


Let There be One Ruler, One King

by wolfdragon11



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Jon Snow, Dom Jon Snow, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Political Jon Snow, Possessive Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-08-19 19:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfdragon11/pseuds/wolfdragon11
Summary: "There is one I could follow. There is one I could call king."Jon Snow learns the truth of his parentage and pulls an ancient sword. Sansa is warned and escapes Baelish. Together they take back their home with a thirst for vengeance.An ancient presence makes itself known at Dragonstone. Arya brings the storm with her.The wolf whispers back, "I am the storm".





	1. Jon

> _Pain washed over him. _Then nothing. He was plunged into nothingness, into darkness, into an abyss. He felt nothing, saw nothing and smelt nothing. It was as though someone had put an end to every aspect of the very fiber of his being. Jon Snow did not exist any longer. It was limbo, never ending and everlasting, he was gone, it was finished.

A voice echoed in the abyss. In the nothingness a sliver of sound emerged,

_“Take him Gods, kill the bastard. Take his life and rid me of the wretched reminder of my failings as a wife,” Lady Stark begged. _

_“He is my son, and that is all anyone need ever know. All talks disparaging the Lady Ashara’s virtue and honor will end NOW,” his father warned loudly. _

_“Sword up and parry boy, fight with the menace that bastards are capable of,” encouraged Ser Rodrik. _

_“Ride the horse with respect and command son, we Northerners need this skill above all, for in the winter if you fall off your horse; you die.” His father gently said. _

_“Do not tell father I fell off the horse, the sons of Eddard do not fall,” Robb said furiously. _

_“Sansa, stop your stupid sewing and come play,” Arya whined._

_“Bran mother said you must stop climbing the walls! Come down this instance!” Sansa screeched._

_“Look at the wee lad, he’s a wild one, isn’t he? The wild wolf this one will be!” Boomed Lord Glover._

_“Stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Jon explained._

Stale breath filled Jon’s mouth as he gasped and shuddered for breath, his eyes wide, frantic and unfocused. Coppery taste of blood, the cobalt taste of snow and the carpet of smoke from the fire around him flooded his senses.

“He’s alive! The fucker’s alive! Put the fucking fire out!” Jon recognized Tormund’s desperate voice from somewhere around him. He was on a pyre. He was being burned atop the pyre. Except he was not burning. He felt nothing. Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was the afterlife. What should have been.

“Tormund, _Tormund” _Jon rasped, his voice hoarse and his throat prickly. “Get me off of here Tormund.” Suddenly his vision cleared. Val, Tormund and Davos were amongst the first he spotted. Tormund moved jadedly, throwing aside the bundled branches with his gloved hands.

“Fucking help me you cunts!” Tormund yelled furiously at the seemingly frozen wildlings watching Jon. Watching his funeral to be precise Jon thought. Watching his rebirth. Watching him rise from the flames. Jon Snow did not exist any longer

Finally, Tormund grabbed him around the torso and pulled. Jon felt himself being supported by Tormund and a speechless Davos. He winced at the pain he felt. He was sore everywhere, perhaps there were worse things to be when someone comes back from the dead Jon thought.

His wince seemed to throw Davos into action. He was being led up to the Lord’s chambers by Davos and Tormund. Every single fucking step hurt Jon. Every single step he noticed more and more of the people in the courtyard. They had witnessed a God. That is the way they stared dumbfoundedly at Jon, as if he were a God.

“I thought you were gone, I thought you dead, son. It’s the red witch. She tried to bring you back, but it didn’t work, Val said you would want to pass on to the next life the wildling way. What the fuck have I just seen Jon?” Davos whispered furiously, seemingly all in one breath.

Jon did want to be given to the Gods in the way of the wildlings, but the next life? What did Davos mean by the next life? Jon worked his brain to remember, was the next life only a recollection of voices from his previous life? What kind of cruel joke was this, the Gods had bestowed upon Jon.

They opened the doors to his chambers, and he noticed the red witch and Val slip in with the three of them. They laid him on his bed and barred the door just as Val reached for the wash basin and wash cloth. Wiping at his sweaty and blackened face that was dirtied by the fire. Jon shuddered and schooled his features as much as he could.

“I saw _nothing, _Davos.” Jon said sternly. “There was _nothing” _he said resolutely. He was slipping out of consciousness under the cool ministrations of Val. “The traitors, what of them.” He whispered desperately wanting to know of their fate before he passed out.

“They are in the holding cells lad; we will wait for your decision when you get better and we understand what we just saw out there.” Davos said.

Jon grimaced then faded, his vision blurring to the blurry sight of Val’s beautiful dirty blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes.

* * *

Jon pawed and ripped at the bread that Val had brought. He ate in a comfortable silence in his chambers. He had not left the room, although he was well now, everyone close to him understood he wanted to prolong the inevitable. Facing everyone, passing the sentence to Ser Alliser Thorne, Olly, and the other traitors.

Val had nursed him back to health after a hard three days of fever and sickness. Jon had been fond of her before, and she had become his closest ally and truest friend in those three days. She was the only one who knew what Jon intended to do. How he intended to abandon the watch, deeming his oath fulfilled.

“It has to be today Jon Snow,” Val murmured softly as she looked at him with nothing but kindness and fierce devotion. Jon slowed his eating, his grey eyes meeting her blue ones. “You must pass the sentence and be on your way, the men can no longer go without answers. Not after what they saw.” 

Jon merely nodded his agreement morosely. His reluctance shining through his actions. Putting his plate of food aside he stood and dressed himself to confront the challenge outside.

* * *

Jon walked towards the traitors while their nooses were being tightened. The crowd, mixed with brothers of the nights watch and wildlings, parted ways for him. As if they were too afraid to be close to him. Like they thought him a God, equal parts fearing him and being awe struck by him.

As Jon walked up to the platform he thought once more, Jon Snow did not exist any longer. They wanted a God. A leader. A ruler. A king.

He would become that.

Winterfell will be his, he will kill the Bolton bastard and he will rally the men under his banner. He decided right then that he will _hold _the seat of Winterfell until one of his half siblings come and claim it.

“You are charged with treason against your Lord Commander, you all have betrayed the Night’s Watch and will be executed now. If you have any last words now is the time.” Jon said calmly, his voice and face betraying none of the emotion that brewed within him like a storm. No one dared speak a word. Not even smug Ser Alliser Thorne.

They murdered him, these men, yet they were insignificant. He would live on, they would die. Still, a fire raged in his body. His blood burned. His face a mask, the warrior's face, the one he was told his enemies should see before they die. They did not deserve a simple execution, albeit their death would serve a greater purpose.

“Before I execute you all, you should know that if and when you become dead men walking, your souls will not find rest. The Lord Commander is encouraged to keep your undead bodies as proof of what is to come. So that all the lands finally believe.” Jon let his pleasure be openly seen now as he sneered at the scum. They all blanched further if it were at all possible. Olly with a murderous expression on his face.

“You _fucking bastard,” _Olly seethed. It did not matter to Jon. He reached the taut rope. He grasped Longclaw firm in his hand and swung it down. He watched the traitors, murderers and oath breakers choke to a blue as the fire in his body abated slightly. He took a sharp breath in, not allowing his face to contort in the anger he felt. He wanted to cleave their heads off and kick them far from their wretched spasming bodies.

_“The mans who passes the sentence must swing the sword,” _the words of Eddard Stark whispered in the wind.

“Put the bodies in crates before they arise. Keep them somewhere safe. I have fulfilled my oath to the Night’s Watch. I pledged my life and I gave it.” Jon said clearly through the crisp freezing air. Every being within Castle Black hung on to his every word. He climbed down and made his way through the crowd.

“My watch is ended.” Jon Snow did not exist any longer.


	2. Sansa

_“You must be frightened. The worst is behind you my Lady Sansa.” _Petyr’s coarse voice rung in her head. She breathed in the scent of the salty ocean. Her gaze fixed on horizon of never-ending bluish-grey sea ahead of her. She could see her breath turn into mist, as the chill seemingly invaded her bones and made her body shudder.

She was free. She was free of golden lions, of roses with thorns, of scheming dwarves. She was free.

Sansa’s head could not help but swim with the events that had occurred since she had boarded Baelish’s ship. She would be accused of killing Joffrey; of this there was no doubt. She was heading to the Vale, more specifically to the eyrie, the stronghold of house Arryn.

The stronghold of house Arryn, whose heir was her cousin Sweet-Robin, whose Lady was her aunt Lysa, whose Lord Protector was Petyr Baelish. Despite all this why did Sansa feel as though she was out of the frying pan and plunged into the fire.

This was another reason Sansa could not help but feel restless. Varys. The spider and his scheming. What business did the spider have cornering her? What was she other than the daughter of a traitor? Why warn her of this very situation? She was headed to her last remaining family apart from Jon.

She closed her eyes and listened to the ripples in the water with the chill tickling at her eyelids.

*Flashback*

_Sansa was transfixed at the sight of her door. An ugly thing. Painted gold. Everything was gold here. The people, the throne room, the armor, the pillars, the paintings, the jewelry, the pots and pans, the schemes, the plots and at the center of it the golden lions. The Lannister’s in their element, in their kingdom. _

_This was a ritual for Sansa. A means of rebellion. She would stand outside her door once she was dismissed to her chambers. She would stand outside and wait for a guard, or sometimes when she was lucky, a member of the royal household. She would show insolence, disobedience, she would show these lions the spirit of a wolf. Albeit, a wounded and caged one. _

_ Sansa would receive a back hand to the mouth every single time. She would stare up defiantly at whoever would catch her that night, she would stare up and take the slap, only going in when she was forced into her room. There was a permanent bruise on her left cheekbone, Sansa would not be surprised if her cheekbone was broken, for it seemed to ache forever and constantly. _

_Good, Sansa thought. I deserve the dull ache. I betrayed my father, my sister, my brother. I share chambers with a mutilated and mutated lion. How stupid she was as a girl. I am the disgrace of the Starks._

_ Her brother had died after winning battles upon battles against the famous Jaime Lannister and the conniving mastermind that was Tywin. Her mother was the driving force in keeping her brother’s sworn Lord’s in check. Her younger brothers had died keeping Winterfell from the Greyjoy traitor. Her sister had simply vanished in thing air. Here she was, waiting for a slap that would prove her a Stark._

_ Tonight, she waited once more. No doubt her dear husband would be passed out drunk inside the chambers. He drunk himself into an oblivion after he was done with Shae. _

_She_ _ knew why. The dwarf lusted after her. This man of age twenty and nine, lusted after her. A girl of ten and seven. He disgusted her. Yes, she thought, he was decent enough not to lay a hand on her. A semi decent lion Sansa mused, and snorted at the thought._

_ She heard footsteps and turned to see who would be slapping her today. Sansa’s ice blue eyes focused on a stout fat man._

_Varys. The spider. Sansa knew nothing good could come of this man being near her, talking to her, whispering his schemes to her. Baelish and he were of the same ilk. Schemers, the very people responsible for protecting the Lannister’s from schemes and keeping them in power._

_ “My Lady Sansa, you seem rather taken with your door.” Varys softly proclaimed as he scuttled in front of her. “You needn’t worry my dear Lady, no one will slap you today. Though I know that is your preference. I come bearing advice Lady Sansa.” He said, seemingly… Concerned? Sansa thought. _

_She did not want his advice. She wanted her slap, the proof that she was a wolf, and she would be on her way to her bed. What would the spider even be able to do for her? Nothing. This place was full of empty promises. _

_Sansa’s eyes pierced Varys’ soul. She would not make this easy, he will have to say what he wants. With Sansa’s face contorted into a stern look as she crossed her arms. Varys blew out a deep breath to steady himself. He could do nothing for her father, he would prefer to leave this girl be. He could not, he would not allow Baelish to puppet this girl into his own twisted little version of her mother. _

_He could do nothing for Lord Stark, but perhaps he could save Sansa Stark. Men with cocks were strange, twisted, lustful, creatures Varys thought as he began._

_ “You have no reason to trust me, this I know, but listen to my words carefully. There are things in motion which will change your life. Soon you will be faced with a choice, whether you are to be used or you are to escape. I do not talk of what will happen in the next few days, you understand? I talk of the next few moons. I speak plainly, something uncommon for me, an Essosi, we love our riddles.” He mused happily._

_“I could not save your father; he was the greatest of men, it is in his memory I warn you. Those who seek to save you will have ulterior motives. Do not take a single soul in your confidence. Escape Sansa Stark. Escape and find your family. Only with family are you safe.” Varys finished as he turned to leave._

_ Sansa stood stunned. What had just happened? What was going to change her life? What family did she have left? Her aunt Lysa yes. Yet she was eccentric, moody, prone to sudden outbursts of anger. She was unpredictable and as two faced as anyone in King’s Landing. How could she be safe with a madwoman? _

_“My Lord Varys,” Sansa ground out through gritted teeth. “You say those who seek to save me have ulterior motives,” Sansa reminded with a delicate eyebrow raised. “Yet I cannot help but wonder what your motives are? No doubt you too think you are saving me with this ‘advice’.” She retorted, turning her back to the spider as he turned to walk away. It seemed he conceded to her point and believed she did not deserve an answer. _

_“One more thing my Lady. Jon Snow has been made the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s watch. He is your bastard half brother is he not? Your family?” Varys emphasized as he once more turned to leave down the hall he had crept across._

_Jon Snow. Her bastard brother. Sansa’s breathing quickened as she gasped for breath. Her brother who looked more like a Stark than all her full siblings bar Arya. _

_Her bastard brother who she taunted and ignored in turns. Her bastard brother who was sullen, brooding and silent. Her bastard brother who apparently know held a higher station than her, a political hostage married to the enemies of her family. Her bastard brother._

_Sansa struggled for breath as she slunk down against the door. Her breath coming in short gasps, the taste of her salty tears invaded her mouth. Tears she did not know she had shed. Her family was alive. She sobbed as she looked around frantically for her bastard brother. She clawed at her neck and let out a shuddering breath to calm herself. _

_She was in the Red Keep, her brother leagues away at the edge of the world. He would not be here; he would not come and rescue her. He was no Aemon the Dragonknight Sansa thought bitterly. Yet why would he? She asked herself as she entered her room. _

_She reached her bed and did not even notice the dwarf slumped across a chair snoring loudly. Sansa had never treated the bastard of Winterfell well. He was her family, yet she could not hope to think he thought of her as his._

_She did not deserve family. Only pain, misery and schemes. That was the life of Sansa Stark. She thought her story was beginning when she had come to King’s Landing, how foolish she was, to not recognize that it was ending. She sobbed silently as she laid on the bed and covered herself with the sheets. Golden sheets, sheets that had her tears stained through them._

* * *

He was in power Sansa thought. He was in power, and he wanted her. He wanted her mother’s Tully eyes and fiery hair. He was in power and he was a monster.

In front of his eyes he had killed her aunt Lysa. He had pushed her through the moon door, his gaze unwavering and affiliated into her eyes the whole time. ‘I did this for you,’ his eyes seemed to haunt.

She sobbed harder in her bed. Her faces marred in the pain she felt in her heart. She sobbed with no tears. She had none left. Her room was illuminated with the moonlight that seemingly shone brighter in the Vale. 

The Vale that had men which were a cross breed of Northerner and Southerners. The men lacked the subtlety of the South yet had their discreet behavior. They were blunt enough to have the Northern temperament yet sly enough to be considered of the South.

The men here openly lusted after Sansa and made crude remarks behind her back. Harry Hardyng and his posse of men were among such men. Sweet-Robin, for all his youth and ignorance, also wanted her as his wife. Then there was Baelish. The man who was simply the embodiment of all that was wrong with Westeros. The smartest man alive.

She hated this. She hated this with the same passion she hated King’s Landing. There was no discerning what she hated more. They were different kinds of evil, different types of sickness befelled both places. She was the bastard Alayne Stone here. She lived life and was treated the way her Jon must’ve been.

Her Jon, her bastard brother. The one she wanted to escape to. The one who closer now than ever before. Her one secret from Baelish, who thought she did not know her bastard brother was Lord Commander.

Resolve settled in Sansa’s stomach. Resolve and a need to escape. She shuddered and let a deep breath pass between her lips. Her eyes closed as she centered herself. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the Lady of Winterfell now. She was a wolf and she would find her pack. She had to escape at the first possible chance.

Her skin had turned from porcelain to ivory. Now she must turn it into steel. Her eyes opened. Her cat shaped ice blue eyes burned the moonlight that fell into her room.

* * *

The tavern she was in was breezy and busy. The fall winds came and went as they pleased through the open windows.

She ate in silence and allowed Petyr to speak. He enjoyed speaking she had found. Enjoyed showing off his schemes and machinations to an extent that the other person could not discern what he talked of, only that he was smarter than them. She had found that by adding in short sentences to his words, he could be kept satisfied and leave her with her thoughts. She did not wish to speak to this man. This man who murdered her aunt. Lusted after her mother. Lusted after her. Wanted to sell her to the Bolton’s.

Suddenly Sansa couldn’t breathe. It was too much. The memories of past life, of her happy life haunted her. How could it all change so much? Was the world truly such a cruel place? She had to get out. She had to breathe the air of fall somewhere Petyr’s stench hadn’t invaded.

“I need some air, Lord Baelish. I’m going to take a step just outside.” She said rising from her feet. The ten guards around her rose as well, hands on swords Sansa noted.

“Of course, my Lady,” Petyr nodded curtly. “Eric and Halig will accompany you.” Petyr said dismissively now gesturing to the two guards closest to him, leaving no room for argument. Petyr’s guards were better than his own presence, Sansa remarked to herself as she left the tavern and made her way to the corner of the stables.

She held on to the wooden ledge the encased the stables and took deep breaths to even out her breathing and calm her racing heart. She often did this when she was overwhelmed, sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t.

She heard the chortled gasp of Eric and the uncompleted unsheathing of Halig’s own sword, she turned around and saw the peak of a longsword coming out of Eric’s throat. The sword slick with the blood it had carried on its way to the exit of Eric’s throat, his face was contorted. It was haunted with the permanent look of shock and horror. Death, Sansa thought fleetingly, that is what was written on his face.

His body slumped to the ground and behind him stood the largest woman she had ever seen. Halig was similarly dispatched by a little tubby man.

“My name is Brienne of Tarth, my Lady, I was your mother’s sworn shield before she instructed me to escort Jaime Lannister safely to King’s Landing in order to trade for you. That didn’t work out and your family was slaughtered. I resolved to find her daughters that day, to serve and protect them like I wanted to for their mother.” Said Brienne of Tarth apparently. She spoke in a hushed tone constantly looking around for the remaining eight guards to rush in and kill the two.

“We need to _leave_ right now. _Please_ my Lady, I’ll take you anywhere you ask but you must come with me right now,” Brienne was pleading now as she went towards the horses stationed there.

Sansa had been promised safety by a stranger before, it had rid her of King’s Landing and gifted her Petyr Baelish. This woman dripped with Lannister gold, from her sword to her armor. Every inch of her screamed Lannister. She knew Catelyn, her Lady mother, she probably remembered Catelyn and Robb better than Sansa did. 

Sansa was frozen in place, much like the state of her mind. At her feet laid the two dead guards and to her right Brienne of Tarth and her chubby companion had mounted their horses. She knew of course that her escape plan was to go to the wall. Could she trust these two? She had no other choice; Petyr would do with her as he wished then would dispose of her like he did aunt Lysa.

Quickly she nodded her consent and mounted the horse with some difficulty. “The wall. Take me to the wall, where my brother Jon Snow is Lord Commander.” Sansa said absently as the horses recognized the need for haste and ran out.

Could this really be her destiny? Could she really be free and on her way to the wall to her Jon? Yes, Sansa thought. Yes, she would be reunited with her pack or die on the way. She would die on the way she thought resolutely. Anything was better than what Baelish was trying to do to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter. I planned on uploading 2 today, I may still but I feel ill. This is all about Sansa. The chapter is longer and Varys tells Sansa about Baelish because why would he want Baelish to be in possession of the key to the North. Sansa is obsessed with the idea of Jon because he is the one family left that gave her strength in her time of most need. Her belief that she was not the lone wolf. She would not die. I know my chapters are more thought heavy but I promise the next chapter is all dialogue between Jon and his advisers. I love all of you, thank you for the kudos and lovely comments. Also, do you guys prefer I post as I write or once in a week where I upload 3-5 chapters all in one day? Let me know!


	3. Jon

Jon was lost in the flames in front of him, the embers that crackled and fizzled out of the fire and disappeared into nothingness. He focused on the black of the fire, the foundation of the fire, the very heart of it. The miniscule destruction the fire wrought on the firewood fascinated Jon as he watched the wood burn when he himself had not. Who was he to deny a destructive force such as fire itself the satisfaction of feasting upon his flesh?

“_Jon,_” Davos stressed, calling out to him as Jon snapped his focus towards the elder man.

It had been a week since Jon had left Castle Black, Jon and the wildlings had settled in the Queenscrown. It had been a week and a day since Tormund and the wildlings had pledged their support in the fight to come.

Edd had practically hated him when he had announced his plans to leave. They were brothers though and he would come around and see why Jon had no choice but to leave. His second life was meant for greater things than to be an exiled bastard lost in the North.

He sat in the war tent with a great fire in one corner and a wooden table in the center, around which were settled Davos, the Lady Melisandre, Val, and Tormund. They hadn’t pushed Jon about what had happened during his rebirth. Until now.

“You need to tell us what happened during your rebirth. What did you see lad, what did you _feel_?” Davos asked in an almost pleading tone.

“I saw nothing Davos. I felt nothing. As to what happened, every single person around this table witnessed exactly what happened. _I _should be asking _you_ what happened. All I remember, were those dead fuckers calling me a traitor, then pain, and then for a time all I knew was nothingness. Tell me what happened.” Jon said firmly.

“My lord, Davos discovered your body in the courtyard, he took you and barred himself in your chambers with Ghost, Edd, Satin and a few other men.” Melisandre started.

“The wildlings took over Castle Black to stop the mutiny and to defend your allies. This is when Davos called upon me to bring you back with the blessing of the Lord of Light. It did not work.” Melisandre hesitated

“Except it did.” Jon said, stating the fact with an obvious tone urging the Lady to continue.

“Yes, yes it did. We did not know what to do and this was when Val and Tormund insisted you would want to be given to the Lord in the wildling way. Burning atop a pyre.” Melisandre finished.

Ghost was laying down next to him, upon hearing about Jon’s ‘death’ he quickly growled.

“Aye, and that’s when I noticed you were breathing,” Tormund quickly said.

“You came back to life Jon, we all saw it. You were unburnt, unhurt and the fire was not affecting you at all.” Val added.

Jon was engrossed in his thoughts as he stared at the table and said, “Only some Targaryen’s are immune to fire. I wasn’t before, during the fight I had defending the Old Bear I burnt my hand. I don’t know what this means. Davos?” Jon looked up at the man with question written all over his face.

“I’ve never seen the like, lad. Perhaps the Lady Melisandre invoked the Lord of Light’s blessing upon you. Doubt it. Or maybe you are a fucking Targaryen.” Davos mused.

“Just stick your hand in the fire little man, that’ll tell us whether or not it was just for your rebirth or if you truly can’t catch fire,” Tormund challenged, with an eyebrow raised and a grin resting on his face as he leaned forward on the table.

“_No_ don’t be a fool Tormund. No Jon! I did not help you break through that fever just for you to stick yourself in fire again!” Val said vehemently as she glared at both Jon and Tormund.

“We have to know,” Jon said simply as he took off his glove and rose to walk towards the great fire.

He stuck his hand into the heart of the flame he was so fascinated with only a while ago. Nothing. He felt nothing. He was enchanted at the sight of the flames engulfing his hand and doing no damage. He realized himself and pulled his hand out as he turned to watch his companions stare in shock.

Val rushed to him and quickly held his hand. She hissed and dropped it as quickly as she had picked it up.

“_Your skin is searing hot!_” she seethed.

“You feel nothing, Jon Snow?” Melisandre questioned inquisitively as she rose and came closer as well.

“Nothing.” Jon replied.

Davos rose too and came near enough so that he could see the wrinkles around the man’s eyes.

“What do you know about your parentage boy?” he whispered furiously.

Jon felt overwhelmed. They were crowding him. Asking him questions, whose answers he knew not. Behind them Tormund snorted loudly.

“Useful trick to have, that is.” He said looking uninterestedly at them all.

“He is Azhor Ahai, the prince who was promised.” Melisandre declared loudly, before the attention could be taken away from the subject at hand.

“What in the fuck is that then?” Asked Tormund bewildered.

“It means he is the one to lead us through the second coming of the long night.” She replied, proudly as if she had some achievement in this.

“Sit down. All of you. Now.” Jon said to the three standing up. He stalked to his own seat and sat down with a huff. Glaring at the hand that was caught in the fire, as if it were to blame for the conundrum and drama happening right now.

“I do not know of my mother; my father was Ned Stark and he never named my mother. There is no possible way for me to be a Targaryen. There has never been a Targaryen marriage in the history of House Stark.” Jon finished.

“Lyanna Stark. Lyanna Stark, she was taken by Rhaegar Targaryen wasn’t she? Didn’t Ned Stark go to find his sister with his bannermen and find her dead? Returning with naught but her body and a babe he claimed as his bastard son.” Davos said quickly.

His King Stannis had forced Davos to sit through history lessons, particularly that part of history which brought House Baratheon into power. ‘Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it,’ His king would say. He had found Rhaegar’s kidnapping strange and random. It made no sense.

Jon himself was frozen in place. It would make sense his mind kept repeating back at him in a loop. It would make sense that the honorable Eddard Stark had never shamed his wife, it would make sense that Eddard Stark would name his sisters Targaryen son his own bastard to protect him from his greatest friend and it would make sense that he would never name his mother when Jon was a child.

“There… there is something I can do to see if I am a Targaryen or not.” Jon started uneasily as he looked up at the faces around him. Val looked confused as did Tormund, Davos looked concerned and gazed at him with pitiful eyes, Melisandre looked at him as though he were a meal and she a starving man.

“Brynden Rivers, he was Lord Bloodraven and a bastard of King Aegon IV Targaryen. He was in possession of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel sword that Queen Visenya wielded.” Jon began, clenching his eyes as though he was trying to remember every detail of a great tale.

“He took the sword and a sorceress beyond the wall, one of the few left who knew the magic of old Valyria. He had the sorceress cast it into the stone, only to be retrieved by a Targaryen.” He said shakily, as though the words he uttered were cursed.

“The secret was entrusted to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Since then it has been passed on from Lord Commander to Lord Commander. Jeor Mormont told me when he gave me Longclaw, he found it amusing that the Night’s Watch had more Valyrian steel swords than most of the lands in Westeros.” He finished, looking utterly miserable.

All he ever wanted was to be a fucking Stark. Now there was a high chance he would be a fucking Targaryen.

No, he thought, this is not a curse, if it is true it is a blessing. Fire and Blood were the words of House Targaryen, and recently he had acquired a fascination with the former and was an expert at reaping the latter. He was going to take Winterfell anyways, might as well proclaim himself king in the process if it turned out to be true. It was the honorable thing to do, he told himself. Yes, he mused, he was still half Stark. Regardless of his birth, he would be true to his people.

“You need to go and pick this fucking sword up Jon.” Davos said, bringing Jon out of his thoughts.

“Not only do we need to know if you are a Targaryen or not, a Valyrian steel blade is priceless in battle. I know you wield Longclaw, but if history is to be believed you can use Dark Sister as a short sword. Wielding Longclaw in your dominant hand and Dark Sister as a secondary weapon.” Davos hurried to finish.

Jon liked the idea. He liked it a lot. Claiming his lineage and a great sword all in one fell swoop. He spoke then, “I will, Tormund and I will take a group of men and travel to the wall. It is near the foot of the wall, close to the tunnels and encased in ice so that no one will notice it. It is easy enough to thaw to reach the sword and stone. But first we need to talk about battle plans.”

“We write to House Mormont, we will visit them after we return from the wall. We can only write letters to House Hornwood, and House Flint. Write to House Reed as well, Howland Reed was with Ned Stark at the Tower of Joy. He can confirm what we suspect.” Jon ordered looking at Davos.

“House Bolton is only supported by House Karstark and House Umber. House Cerweyn has a coward for a Lord, I knew the boy growing up he will not fight for either side. Glover’s house was first devastated at Robb’s side and he has only just gotten his keep back. He will not fight either.” Jon explained to the table of men and women around him.

“Your plan lad, what is your plan for battle. How are we to defeat the Bolton cur and take your Southern castle?” Tormund cut in.

Jon took a deep breath. This is where the first battle would be decided for Jon, here in this very tent. “A war of attrition,” he said clearly and with an unwavering voice. “We attack and retreat over and over again.”

“The Bolton’s have 6000 men after the battle with Stannis. We have about 1800 fighting free folk. With the rest of the houses that I believe will answer the call we can have 4000 men. The Dreadfort and Karhold will be empty save for the women and children at the Karhold. The odd guard yes but mostly emptied out.” Jon continued pointing at the map on the table with raised eyebrows and prominent stress lines.

Jon took a second to collect his thoughts before he started again, “I will lead 1000 men to Winterfell, here we will engage and break away making the Bolton army chase us through the woods to try and decimate us there and then.”

“We then make our way to the Dreadfort, where another 1000 men will be stationed. We engage again cutting down their numbers. From the Dreadfort, we make our way to Karhold, here is where the forests are thickest. We station 2000 men all over the forest and make our last stand there. Effectively trapping the bastard in a massacre.” Jon finished proudly for a second, before looking at Tormund and Davos with concern. If the wildlings didn’t like his idea, he’d be well and truly fucked.

Val simply looked impressed. She was a spearwife and fierce rider, she understood the thought behind this plan. “I like it,” she declared.

Davos looked astounded, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but aye, this could work. It is the most efficient use of our numbers.”

Tormund was silent. Silent as he contemplated what Jon had said. “Aye ya mad fucker. Only you could come up with a plan like this!” Tormund boomed with a wide grin as got up and thumped Jon on the back.

Jon let out a breath he did not know he was holding. His plan was final, and he now had the support of 1800 men. All he needed was the remaining 2200.

“We’ll leave for the wall in the morning,” Jon said as he rose to make his way out of the tent. He nodded at the guards stationed around the camp as he came out into the open air.

He breathed in the cold, stale wind deeply. The wind tickling his face, reminding him he needed to get to his own tent. Ghost followed next to him. For now, he would enjoy the night, possibly one his last as the son of Eddard Stark. For now, he would act a sailor. More specifically, get drunk like one.

* * *

He woke with his brain pounding against his head. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried that specific aspect of a sailor’s life. His hands reached up to gently massage his temples and then ran the length of his scalp in an effort to tame his hair. He pushed aside the furs and groaned loudly as the tension in his body was _finally_ released. He ventured further along his tent to the wash basin to clean up his scruffy look as he splashed the water on his face. He paused.

Jon was nervous. He did not know what destiny would bring him at the wall. It had given him status, responsibility, and rebirth at the wall. What would it give him this time? Would it make him the on true king? He didn’t want to think about how he was to manage that. It gave him more of a headache than he was already suffering.

Ghost was laying on his belly, lazily watching Jon with blood red eyes. He gave Ghost a scratch behind the ear and said, “You stay here this time boy, I’ll be back in no time.”

He shook his head and picked up his tunic, pulling it on with a sigh. His jerkin came next, followed by his boots, he fastened his sword belt on wrapping Longclaw and his dagger firmly against his hip, and finally his worn down winter cloak. He took a step outside his chamber and instantly saw his breath turn into mist in front of him. Maybe he was a dragon, Jon thought with a wry grin wanting to snort at his own childish thinking.

He noticed Tormund and five of the free folk; Ornor, Thormyr, Gremun and two others, already waiting for him, “It’s time to go back to your crows, Snow.” Tormund called out loudly with his arms spread open as if in invitation or welcome.

Jon merely replied with a grunt.

He reached the war tent and found all his companions from last night, bar Tormund, already waiting for him. Val looked beautiful as always, albeit tired. Davos as always looked concerned, and Melisandre looked as though she had just received all of Westeros’ wealth for free.

He stopped short of Val and took her in. She was truly a sight to behold, dirty blonde locks that ended closer to her hips than shoulder. Sapphire blue eyes that held a killer’s gaze, and her womanly curves accented through the Northern style dress she wore. She preferred dresses over the skins that every other wildling wore. He thought it simply made her more beautiful.

She was his greatest friend. She had been there for him when he had been reborn, she knew Jon Snow did not exist anymore. Yet she willingly nursed him back to health and treated him with a tenderness she would’ve scorned at before. Perhaps she wanted to be more than Jon’s truest friend. Perhaps she wouldn’t make a terrible Lady of Winterfell.

He shook himself out of these thoughts. It would not do he thought to himself as he smiled at everyone in the tent. She was his friend and he would forever be in her debt. She was not the one for him, nor he for her. She had a husband once, and he had died trying to make it where she now sat. Jon would not hassle her like the men in Stannis’ army had. He respected her with all his heart, nothing more.

Smiling to himself now, he turned and made his way to his horse. It was a two-day journey to the wall, and he hadn’t even fucking had breakfast yet. Perhaps he could have some on the way.

* * *

“RIDER’S!” yelled the man atop the wall of Castle Black.

A single horn was heard, and Jon felt a pang in his chest. He was not a brother of the Night’s Watch any longer, so why did these people insist on treating him as such? He urged his horse forward as he wiped the pained expression away from his face.

In the courtyard stood Edd, waiting for him with his arms open. “Back so soon? Changed your mind did ya, wee bastard.”

Jon laughed but not as loudly as Tormund who, for some reason, seemed to always find great pleasure in people calling Jon small.

Jon dismounted and gave Edd Tollett a fierce hug. “I need fire enough to thaw out a 200 year old block of ice, Edd.” Jon said quietly.

* * *

Jon and Edd each used a pickaxe to chip away at the ice, hitting it with grunts resounding around them one after the other. They had thawed as much as they could with fire. Now their faces were contorted as they hit the ice over and over again.

He could see the sword clearly now. The metal flame that rested on the pummel with elegance, the slender Valyrian steel blade and the blood red stone in the middle of the guard of the sword. The stone was burning brighter and deeper the closer the men got to it. Either the men around him had noticed and refused to comment or they simply thought this a waste of time. Besides, how could a bastard ever be a Targaryen King?

Only the very ice surrounding the blade was left by the final few hits. Now they had to again start melting the ice. The pommel was freed of ice by fire, then the hilt, next the blade which was embedded into a stone almost to its neck.

Everyone stopped as they stared at the blade expectantly, waiting for it to do something. As if realizing the blade would not jump out at them, they turned to Jon. Still, no one spoke.

Taking a deep breath, Jon stepped into the ice. Planting his feet on either side of the elegant tool. He grasped the handle with both hands and was startled to find it warm to touch. As if it were never even touched by ice. He tugged on the hilt and to his eternal surprise the sword was sliding out, following the very path his hand had set. The entirety of the blade was released from the firm grasp of the stone as it nestled itself in, what were undoubtedly, Targaryen hands once more. Upon its release a pulse shuddered through the very ground they stood on. The dragon was awakened. A Targaryen once again wielded the blade of old Valyria.

In an instant Edd was on his knee, his men followed as Tormund and the wildlings looked on in awe. “You are the one true King, Jon. You are the one true Targaryen King.” Edd said in awe of this man in front of him.

Jon looked around him, at the people he had know for many moons now, if they looked at him like this what would everyone else do when they found out?

“Rise Edd, the Night’s Watch does not bend the knee for any king.” Jon insisted to an unmoving Edd.

At this, Tormund moved into action, “You’re not any king though are ya? You saved the free folk from those dead fuckers. I know you carry the guilt of our dead in your heart still. You brought us south of the wall, you died for us. You took a knife to the heart for us.”

“When you woke up in flames you still didn’t ask a single wildling to pledge themselves to you. We know we fight as much for ourselves as we do for your home. I may not bend the knee Jon Snow or Targaryen or whatever the fuck you are now, but you are my king and I will follow you until the day I die.” He finished with his voice raised and hands pointing at Jon. He heard murmurs of ‘Aye’ from each of the wildling men around him. The murmurs turned into pledges that ended with death.

Jon was dumbstruck. He expected many things. He was prepared to become a Targaryen. A king to succeed Mance Rayder, he was not. Yet he would accept. Tormund spoke truly, it was not in Jon’s nature to expect oaths of any sort nor did he forget his failure at Hardhome. He would have to move on and hope he could serve these men better than he had before.

Jon instantly knew the words he would speak to these men; they had given him an oath and in turn he would repay them in kind. “You proclaim me your king. Mance Rayder was a great man, one of the greatest I ever knew. I will serve as your king. I will serve you as king and hope to be half as great as Mance was. It is the greatest honor of my life to be your king and I will not forget it to my dying day.”

Jon looked down at the sword in his hand, it was magnificent. "She has a thirst for blood, men! I will make her sing!" He roared, piercing the blade into the sky.

Cheers arose amongst the small group of men beyond the wall. In the middle of them stood a Targaryen king with Dark Sister jabbed high in the sky as the man wielding it rejoiced.

* * *

Jon mounted his horse once more in the courtyard of Castle Black, Dark Sister was strapped where his dagger once was. It held a comfortable weight. “It’s to the Queenscrown now Tormund. We must start rallying the men and organizing them.” He said as he urged his horse outside the gates.

“YOUR GRACE! WAIT! WAIT!” yelled a page running through the open gates carrying a small scroll in his fisted hand.

Jon pulled his horse to a stop and waited for the boy to catch up.

“A raven arrived for you, your grace.” The boy panted as he struggled to catch his breath. Handing Jon the scroll.

Jon looked amused and opened the wax seal which carried no sigil. The contents of this scroll would be etched in his mind forever.

_Jon,_

_A woman arrived in our camp the day you left. She came in the cover of night with a big woman and a small man. The woman says she is Sansa Stark. Your sister or cousin depending on what you find beyond the wall. She is apparently accompanied by Brienne of Tarth and Podric Payne. We have given her food, Ghost is protecting her._

_Davos Seaworth._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in two days. That being said, I am really proud of this chapter. Jon's acceptance speech is not the most special. Trust me the one up next will be great. I'm sorry if you guys really thought I'd make the reunion happen at Castle Black LOL. I'm not really sorry. I left Dany for later, I'm not going to metion her yet. Next chapter is Sansa making her way to the Queenscrown. Also, can anyone else feel the upcomin tension between Sansa and Val? CAN'T WAIT! As always, love you guys and your comments, leave kudos and lemme know what you think! Also I added a lot more dialogue in this chapter. Let me know what you think about that as well! ALSO, what do you think of the dark sister story line? A bit of Arthurian legend in there for you guys! I hope you like how the secret was left with the Lord Commanders.


	4. Sansa

The heavy scent of the forest engulfed Sansa’s body, heavy, the musky scent, hung around her and invaded her nose. Her senses were heightened, her eyes wide and frantically flying from one end of the darkness to the other. She was tired but her blood burning with adrenaline would not let her rest. Her body ached from the injustice of riding for two days straight. They had to take constant breaks, beckoning their horses to lay down as the crouched to listen for noises. A single snap of a twig was enough to set Brienne off.

In the two days Sansa had known Brienne, she truly could not believe how good this woman was. She was suffering, that was clear for Sansa to see, she could see the wince on Brienne’s face every time she crouched down and her golden armor cut into her skin. Yet she endured. Sansa had doubted Brienne even when she had murdered two of the Vale guards, and now she thanked the Gods she had been recognized by Brienne of Tarth.

This woman had become her sworn sword. Both women exchanging vows, the second they were relatively safe. She wanted to trust Brienne, she really did, but words were wind. What trust could she put in words, here, where guest rights were broken for something as fickle as a scorned marriage.

Her squire was equally as good as her. Podrick Payne, he was called. He looked at her with soft smiles and tender gazes, as if he could see the mistreatment she had suffered through. It was true that his uncle had beheaded her father, but Pod (that was what he liked to be called), was merely a child then. He was a good, sweet boy.

Already they had made good distance. Continually travelling, only stopping under the suspicion of threat and to sleep for a few hours of the darkest part of the night. They ate what little they could find, without stopping. If they chanced upon a stream in the forest, the horses were given a well-deserved rest.

They had already made good distance in two days. Brienne had said they would simply take the Kingsroad all the way to the wall. Sticking to the surrounding forests of the trail, but nonetheless, the Kingsroad is what they were following. The party had crossed The Twin’s. Sansa was closer to her Uncle Edmure now than she had been for the last four years.

Going to Riverrun now, would mean she would have to cross the twins and make her way through roads that were simply too exposed. No. Sansa’s destiny was Jon. She had to reach Jon under any circumstances. In only a further two days of travel, she would cross the neck and be at White Harbor. From there, the wall was only a five-day journey, with the speed they were travelling at.

A sudden sound and-

“_Down_!” Brienne whispered furiously, loud enough that both Sansa and Podrick had heard it. Moving with surprising agility, that she had not thought her tired body capable of, Sansa leapt off the trotting horse and landed with a soft thump. She crouched, then laid flat on her belly, same as Pod and Brienne.

At this point the horses knew what this meant. Silently they folded their legs into their bodies as they laid down. Head’s resting on the damp ground, innocent eyes wide in fear and confusion.

“Those old fuckers were a right mess weren’t they Ed?” A loud voice laced with glee, said. The man’s feet were constantly rustling around, crunching the leaves, seemingly all around them.

“Aye, the woman was shaking so hard, thought the old bitch was jingling her coin purse to a tune.” Another, coarser, voice laughed.

Pod, Brienne, and Sansa were shifting their heads so fast their necks were hurting. They simply couldn’t locate where these voices were coming from. They were bandits. The company of three had seen such men before, smartly maneuvering around such vile men, and only returning to their original course until much after.

“Pity the fuckers didn’t have much in the coin purse, could've saved their pathetic lives if they had though." The first man sneered.

The voices were getting closer and closer, until they stopped. All Sansa could hear was her own breathing and the rustle of leaves as the birds of night chirped away.

Then suddenly Sansa felt a heavy foot press down on her leg. Her eyes widened with fear as she realized these men had got her. Her body frozen in a state of shock and fright. She was trapped, unable to move her leg when she turned and saw two hideous men. Their faces were littered with scars, etched upon their faces were identical grins, complete with missing teeth.

"Well, well, well… Looks like this night keeps getting better and better." The second man mused, his foot still crushing Sansa's leg.

"Coin enough to last us a week and a pretty cunt to warm us for much longer." The other man sneered, crouching down as he leaned in to smell Sansa's body. His face contorted in pleasure and cruelty alike.

Sansa bared her teeth, snarling as she reached for her unoccupied leg, from within her stocking she pulled free the concealed small knife and snapped it up to the man's jugular. The knife's aim true and Brienne's teachings truer. Once the knife had found its mark and the initial spurt of blood had decorated Sansa's nimble fingers, she wrenched the knife down the man's neck, tracing the line of his jugular with her knife.

The man choked upon his blood as, this time, the bandits eyes widened with shock and fear. She could smell the coppery taste of his warm blood as it flew to stick against her dress. The man was dying quickly, bleeding out from his mouth and neck now as Sansa finally released the knife and scrambled away from her handiwork. His body slumped as death claimed him. Vaguely, she realized Pod had dispatched the other man.

*Flashback*

_As soon as they had gotten far enough to slow their horses galloping, Brienne had reached into her satchel and called for Sansa's attention. Warily, Sansa wondered if this is where she was to be betrayed. She thought herself proven right when Brienne pulled out the smallest knife she had ever seen._

_"My lady, I ask that you take this to defend yourself. I will gladly give my life for yours, but it would make me feel better knowing you have some sort of a weapon on your person." Brienne started._

_Sansa hesitated before nodding, hand reaching forward tentatively to take her tiny would be defender._

_"I will do my best to protect you, but in the case that I cannot," Brienne continued as she reached for Sansa. _

_Tracing a line down Sansa's pale neck, she continued, "jab the knife here, and rip downwards, my lady." She finished, in a rather anticlimactic fashion._

*End Flashback*

She sat there, in shock, frozen at what she had done. She had just taken this man's life. What little innocence was left in her, was stolen by the thief. This wretched bandit.

She shuddered as her face contorted in pain, the sobs wracking her body. Her tears rushed to join the man's blood on her dress as they fell from her face. 

Sansa was crying, what more could the world do to her? She wondered, as Brienne whispered something about moving on, as she crouched down and gathered Sansa up in her arms. She was put on her horse with the gentle care she had come to associate with Brienne.

The horse rode forth as Sansa turned to see Pod searching the bodies and pocketing the coin purse. He proceeded to hide the bodies amongst bushes. 

Jon, Sansa thought, she has to keep moving forward for Jon. She has to reach her brother at any cost. _At any cost_.

* * *

They had ridden for two more days, before reaching Moat Cailin. She was in the North now, she was home. It was true, only Pod was able to go to the market and buy proper food from the thief's coin, but the air here just smelled different. 

From Moat Cailin, they planned on cutting through the streams and heading towards Hornwood. From there, the path to Castle Black was simple enough. 

Brienne had explained, that they could not continue on the Kingsroad as it took them too close to Winterfell. Despite Sansa having walnut brown hair, it was too great a risk. 

Baelish may have already alerted the Frey's, and Bolton's. She wondered what steps Baelish had taken to get her back. She knew the Vale men chased after her, they had hidden from many of them in their time at the neck. She was too valuable for Petyr to let her slip through his bony fingers, she knew too much. 

She wondered if he would risk alerting the other houses, that he was in possession of Sansa Stark and had fooled them all. No, she thought, he would not be as foolish as to court open rebellion against him. The Vale and Yohn Royce already despised him, only Harry, Lothor and his ilk favored Petyr.

Hornwood took them closer to the Dreadfort, though, Brienne had assured Sansa it would be empty. Sansa ached to see Winterfell, but at the cost of her life, she dared not to suggest such a thing. They could take no chances.

It was another day's ride to Hornwood. From there, Sansa estimated it was two more days to Castle Black. Sansa had secretly poured over the maps in the library of the Vale, memorizing every detail of the North, of her escape to the wall. It was as though Brienne was meant to find her. She had already committed the map to memory. Now, they just had to keep their pace.

Jon was only five days away. Home was only five days away.

* * *

Sansa was so very tired. Four days they had ridden. Four days and only a handful of hours sleep, was all they could afford. Her body was weak, her lips cut and her eyes hollow. There was little food to find this far North. Pod and Brienne had done what little they could do, going as far as offering her their portions, but she could not take from the very mouth she had sworn had a place at her table.

Sansa was tired, but her soul was not yet spread too thin. She would give up her fight once she had reached her Jon. She would cry with relief, once she reached her Jon.

This far North, in the territory of traitors. They had come close to the castle easily enough. The dirt, grime and stench of the forests clung to them, cloaking them. The forests of Last Hearth reached the very foot of the keep. This made it easily spied upon. This made it a source of information, and Last Hearth was buzzing with activity.

Sansa had insisted they stop and surveil, once she had seen the great fires and hubbub of activity around Last Hearth. She could tell Brienne wanted anything, but. Brienne had relented quickly, as was her habit, Sansa realized. Whenever Sansa had insisted upon certain things, Brienne was quick to try and fulfill them. 

She did not know whom Brienne had served before her Lady mother; they had barely had a chance to talk. Sansa assumed it was her training as part of a high-born daughter, that she was well versed with polite acceptance.

Now the three kneeled behind bushes, huddled together in an effort to make themselves small. Wide eyed and open eared, they listened and searched for anything. Two men of the Umber army were closest to them. Sansa strained to hear their conversation.

"–bastard thinks he can take on our army? Ha! Jon Snow has nothing but wildling scum. Word around camp is, the bastard begs for help from the small houses!" The man finished with a laugh.

"Wildlings can be fierce, Brod. Even if Jon Snow gets half the support of the smaller houses, he can gather an army of comparable number. Don't take the wrath of a bastard scorned, so lightly. We go to war, but this will not be like Hornwood. Jon Snow is said to be the greatest swordsman that ever lived, he is as good a rider as any Stark before him too." The second man warned. 

Sansa's breath was caught in her throat. Jon was gathering an army and the wildlings were with him, he was going to take back Winterfell! He was fighting for their home! She thought excitedly as she turned back to the finishing conversation.

"He's a bastard Stark, the Northern lord's will never accept him. And fuck you for putting me off my mood. Cunt." The man, Brod, muttered into his flagon of ale.

It was a day’s ride to the wall Sansa reaffirmed as they silently crept back to their horses. It was a day’s ride and she'd be by her Jon's side, helping him reclaim their home. It was not only Jon she looked forward to now, it was the halls of Winterfell, the halls of home.

* * *

Queenscrown was named in honor of Queen Alysanne Targaryen. She has stayed at the holdfast, during her trip in the North. A Targaryen was absent now, and seemingly only wildlings resided here. Great fires in many different places and men, women and children with identical skins roamed this area.

The camp was huge, though abysmally guarded. Brienne, Pod and Sansa were already at the border of camp and no one had even said anything! 

_Finally_, Sansa thought as a skinny man halfheartedly attempted to shout 'riders!' to the rest of his camp. It was quite a pathetic attempt really; Sansa would be surprised if anyone had heard it.

Jon was here, she thought, climbing down her horse as she watched two figures approach the three of them. Jon wouldn't let anything happen to Sansa in his own camp, would he? These two didn't mean harm, did they?

None of these concerns appeared on Sansa's face as she donned the cold mask, back straight, shoulders square and chin tilted slightly upwards.

The two figures could be seen in the dull light the dying embers of the fire provided, and the sad pale light the moon tormented them with.

She saw an aged man, white and grey whiskers all over his beard and a balding head. He was of an average height, Sansa observed the man with cool azure eyes glowing in the night, he was slightly fat and had broken into a slight jog to reach them faster.

A woman came into view and Sansa's heart beat faster. She was the most beautiful woman Sansa had ever seen, blonde locks prettier than Cersei's, blue eyes to rival her own, complete with womanly curves to make Margery jealous. She walked with grace, hands by her sides, as she stayed a few steps behind the old man.

The man stopped in front of them, Brienne stood almost in front of Sansa, hand on sword. Pod was behind her, the horses standing still as the way they had been when their riders where on the run.

The old man seemed out of breath as he took a deep one to calm himself. "Who are you people and why are you here in the dead of night?" 

Brienne raised an eyebrow at this, "Give us your name old man and we'll give you ours."

"I am Davos Seaworth, I was hand to the King Stannis and now I'm advisor to Jon Snow. This is his army." He said, pointing back at the feeble camp, he turned back after he had called this camp an army. He seemed embarrassed.

"And the lady? Does she not speak?" Sansa questioned the blonde woman next to Davos.

"I am Val, little girl. I am also Jon's _advisor_. Who are you?" Sansa had not liked the way, this Val, had referred to her as girl. She did not like how Val so casually said Jon. She did not like the sarcastic emphasis applied on the word advisor.

"I am Brienne of Tarth, this is my squire Podrick Payne, and this is my Lady Sansa Stark; the sister of your Lord Jon Snow." Brienne said, quickly recognizing the tone of her lady's voice and stepping in.

"Sansa– Sansa– Sansa Stark?" The man, Davos asked spluttering in disbelief.

Sansa was agitated. She did not risk life and limb to be kept waiting here like a guest in a courtyard. "Yes, I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, where is my brother? Take me to him." She demanded impatiently.

Val snorted, stopping suddenly as she stepped forward to observe Sansa, "you do not have red hair, girl. Jon said his sister was kissed by fire. You seemed to be kissed by walnuts." She said, mirth filling her tone.

Sansa was angry, how dare this woman question who she was! Sansa had not spent years being tortured just for a wildling upstart to question her identity!

Pod stepped forward tentatively, coming up next to Sansa. "My name is Podrick Payne, I was at King's

Landing during the same time as my Lady Sansa. I vouch for her." Resolutely, Pod had spoken his piece.

Sansa gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, "my real hair color will shine through once we have bathed. That is the proper courtesy of guest rights, for you to give us food, water and shelter." 

"You claim guest rights?" Davos finally said, stepping out of his shock.

"Yes, we do," Brienne replied instantly.

"We'll find you tents then, food water and a bath as well my lady." Davos said quickly. "Please come with me."

"Davos! –" Val finished as quickly as she had started, one look from Davos and she knew this was something that had to be done.

Sansa walked ahead, following Davos quickly, "where is my brother, ser? Bring him to me." She said quickly to Davos. 

Davos looked hesitant, as if he were deciding what to say. "He has ridden to the wall, just this morning, my lady, he has some urgent business to attend to. I believe he'll be back in three days."

Urgent business? On the verge of battle and Jon had gone back to the wall? What was going on?

As if noticing her turmoil, Davos continued, "please my lady, eat, drink, bathe. I will send a raven to Jon in the morning, we will tell you everything then as well. You clearly need rest."

Sansa did. She needed rest.

Morning came and it was Sansa Stark who woke up. Her silky red hair had taken its rightful place upon her head, as the brown was washed away with the bath. She had when in Jon's tent. Last night, Sansa had informed Davos she wanted to be in Jon's tent, in a tone that brokered no argument. Davos had reluctantly agreed.

She saw ghost for the first time in four years. With a soft 'oh ghost,' as she spotted him in Jon's tent next to his bed. She had held out here hand as she first done with Lady, it was seemingly unnecessary. Ghost knew her, of course he did. Pack was for life. Ghost was her family.

She had buried her hands in his fur, feeling his warmth as she held back years. Ghost stayed in the position he was, not so lazy anymore, merely understanding and patient. He waited for Sansa to remove her face from his fur before licking her cheek. She had giggled then, pushing him away with a hand to his wet snout.

Ghost had gotten massive, as big as a pony, at his full height. He was fierce and strong. She wondered if Jon had changed as much as he. Sansa did not wish to be parted with Ghost's company, so he stayed. He stayed by her side.

She stepped out after getting dressed, Ghost right next to her. It was not yet mid-day, very close but not yet. She _had_ been really tired, she thought. Making her way to a large tent, which could only be the war tent, she steeled herself. It was time to go to war.

Brienne was already in the tent seated at the table, rising and standing at Sansa's side as she saw her. Davos and Val looked at her, from their seats, next. They took in her red hair. She was a vision, red hair, Tully blue eyes and a walk that could put a queen to shame. 

She surely had to be Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the trueborn daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. She had to be, Davos thought.

She sat down on a vacant chair and laced her fingers together upon the wooden surface of the table.

"Finally awake, are we little red?" Val questioned haughtily.

"Val." Davos said in warning. "Come my Lady, we will tell you everything you want to know."

"My brother, what business is he on? Why did he abandon the Night's Watch? Wasn't he the Lord Commander? Jon would not abandon his vows…" Sansa asked, one after the other.

"He didn't. His vows are deemed complete and he is not Lord Commander anymore." Val said, uncharacteristically quietly.

"And that's only an answer to two of my questions." Sansa pointed out 

Davos spoke then, "it's better if Jon tells you his business at the wall, it's better if he tells you about why he is no longer Lord Commander. These are things that are Jon's to tell. We cannot divulge his stories."

Sansa took a few breaths to calm her, "is there _anything_ you _can_ tell me then!?" She said furiously.

Davos knew this question was coming. He had mulled over what he could and could not tell the Lady Sansa. He had tossed and turned and finally decided. He could tell her about the houses they had written to and the number of men they had. If the lady wasn't what she proclaimed to be, she would flee with the knowledge of their numbers. Davos would have a guard, _discreetly_ watch her.

He started, "yes my lady, I can tell you about our numbers and which houses we ask for support. You have to understand, I can't– I can't risk Jon's confidence if I'm not entirely sure who you are. Even with your red hair and Ghost following you around like a pet." He said pointedly at the large dire wolf, by Sansa's side.

"Very well. Tell me, what is my brother doing to reclaim our home?" Sansa urged.

"We have, just yesterday, written to House Mormont, House Hornwood, House Flint and House Reed. Jon believes the Bolton's will be supported by House Umber and House Karstark, he says the Cerwyn lad is a coward and House Glover is devastated. We have not written to any other houses." Davos finished, folding his hands in front of him after his explanation.

"That's just stupid isn't it? After we've gotten our home back, how will we know who we can trust and who can't? We need to know who will answer the call… and who will betray us. Fetch me scroll, a quill and ravens." Sansa said quickly, her game face on, ready to make her move.

"Little red has a point," Val said with a slight, pointed, raise of her eyebrows.

"Aye, that she does."

"I will write letters to House Glover, House Tallhart, House Manderly, House Dustin, House Forrester, House Ryswell and House Dustin. Every house in the North needs to answer the call of the last remaining Starks. They answer the call, or they will be brought to us as traitors, when we take our home." Sansa spat, vehemently, teeth bared to those around her. She would make sure they knew who could be trusted and who couldn't. 

"Aye milady, perhaps after these letters, I can send one to Castle Black informing Jon you've arrived?" Davos questioned, taking the writing tools from a man he had previously instructed to bring all the things the Lady Sansa had asked for.

"How many ravens do you have exactly?" Sansa asked with a wry grin gracing her beautiful face. 

"We sort of… we took all the ravens of Castle Black, spare for one. For emergency purposes. The brothers of the Night's Watch only prepare for the long night now milady. The dead are on the mar–" Davos stopped quickly before he let too much slip.

Sansa was startled, grin forgotten and replaced by concern. "The dead? Long night? You speak of the Others… has my brother seen them?" Sansa questioned, one after the other.

"Seen them? The bugger brought some of them in great bloody boxes with us at camp, it's the whole reason he wants to take back his home, so he can rally the men against the White Walkers. _Milady_." Val said, with… anger?

Quickly Davos jumped in, "please my lady, don't ask us anymore. Jon will be back in three days. You're welcome to his tent and Ghost. Write the letters and I'll make sure they're sent out." He got up and left, Val not far behind him. Only Brienne and Ghost were with her now.

She was so very confused. What was going on? White Walkers? Why did Val seem angry? What did he mean by dead men in wooden boxes? 

She needed Jon here now. Jon had to explain what in the world was going on. Had the Gods truly abandoned the North? Her answers had to wait for Jon, as she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update. Writing Sansa is really fucking hard. Welp, heres how Sansa got to Queenscrown, and shes about to fuck shit up. It's clear that Jon hadn't considered the smaller houses and now Sansa can swoop in and save him :D. She's going to help him with battle plans too :). Next chapter is the reunion. It's gonna be great! Lemme know what you guys think. Thank you for the kudos, lovely comments and constructive criticism. If you haven't yet, leave a kudos!


	5. Jon & Sansa

_ "WE RIDE, MEN! WE DO NOT STOP! MY SISTER HAS BEEN FOUND, WE RIDE! _ " That is what Jon said after he had read the letter thrice, not understanding how this was possible. He had kicked his horse to a gallop, as soon as he had finished uttering the words. He had great skill as a horseman, now he needed to call upon it.

They had been riding for a whole day, they rode hard; they rode fast. They stopped just twice, to give the horses some water and rest, and to recover their own strength.

It was in these intervals Jon considered warging into Ghost. He knew Ghost was guarding the woman claiming to be Sansa Stark, Davos had written as much. Jon decided against this, he had not the heart to do it. He was scared. Jon Snow was scared. For, if he did warg and it turned out to be a farce, a pretender in place of his sist–  _ cousin _ , he would most likely kill the pretender. He would not be able to stand such a betrayal so quick after the previous one. 

If it did turn out to be Sansa, he would not want to look upon his family through the eyes of Ghost. It would marr the memory of the meeting. Could this actually be? Could he be reunited with his family? 

He had heard of a rumor that Sansa was in the Vale, posing as Baelish's daughter, a drunk servant had spread this. Jon had every intention of uncovering the truth behind this rumor, but he needed a position of power first. He needed an army, bannermen, he needed to recover his cousin, and he had to do it from a position of authority.

Now though, maybe now he could have one more incentive to fight for his home; to fight for the Stark name, someone to rally behind. A reminder that if he is half Targaryen, he is half Stark as well. Sansa would remind him of that. A true heir to Winterfell. 

This was another matter that lingered in his mind, what capacity would he be welcome in if he,  _ was _ indeed, a Targaryen. That is to say, if he would be welcome at all. He could be not Lord of Winterfell, nor could he claim the crown of Winter, he was half a Stark and more importantly, he was half Targaryen. The North hated Targaryens.

Jon knew he was building his armies and gathering support because of his newfound need to reclaim his homeland, now he just had to prove that he was doing it for Stark restoration, not Targaryen resurgence. He wanted House Stark to become the powerhouse of the North again. The Bolton's had stolen the seat of Winter and stabbed their king in the heart. The longer the Bolton's were allowed to breathe, and Stark's were powerless, the weaker House Stark would seem. This was unacceptable. The once proud and strong house brought to its knees at the hands of some cats and mutilated men.

He dug his heels further into the sides of the horse, urging it to go just a little bit faster. They had cut down the journey of two days into a day and a half. He was mere hours away from Queenscrown. Hours away from Sansa. Face blank, grey eyes stormy and glazed and hands clenched tightly around the reigns of the horse. The wind whipped at his face furiously as he turned to look at his men. Only Tormund close enough to see, the rest of them were inky dots on the horizon, illuminated by the light of dawn.

He heard Tormund yell out his thoughts, "KEEP UP YA FUCKERS! KEEP UP WITH THE KING! RIDE! RIDE!"

Dawn was passing, in a few hours he would be at camp.

Jon's sparse glance was over as he refocused on the journey ahead of him, on his destiny, on Sansa.

* * *

Sansa woke with a start, covered in cold sweats, her fiery hair stuck around the frame of her face. Her deep breaths occupied the tent, along with Ghost's quiet, steady breathing from the foot of her bed. Jon's bed. 

Dawn crept into the tent as Sansa reached for the cup of water closest to her. Her nightmares had been constant and unyielding, she had wrongly thought that, once she had escaped, she would escape the monsters that haunted her. Physically they were leagues away, but she wondered if she would carry them forever in her head. 

She drank in small sips, placing the empty cup back, Sansa pulled the furs over herself once more and let out a deep breath. She closed her eyes and focused on the cool breeze that incessantly pushed against the flaps of the tent, caressing her forehead and swallowing the cold sweats resting upon her brow.

She knew Jon would reach camp soon, from his secret task at the wall. Ser Davos had said he was expected tonight or tomorrow morning, Sansa could hardly imagine what their meeting would be like. Would Jon still be the broody, sullen boy who hardly said a word to her, or had he changed as much as she. 

Sansa knew he was a warrior, a man to follow, a leader; this much was evident from the facts that he was elected as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and now he had an army of wildlings at his back. Wildlings, who throughout history, refused to band together or choose a leader. They did have kings beyond the wall, but it had been an age before Mance Rayder, that they had someone to follow. Now they had chosen Jon. That was a testament to his character, was it not? Or perhaps they were just desperate to cross the wall, and Jon had become as corrupt as any other man. Somehow, Sansa doubted that. Jon was Jon, he was her Jon. He would not be as weak and corrupt as the other men she had in her life.

She sighed softly, the sound reverberating through the tent and back to her ears. She would get up and get dressed in a few hours, when the camp was lively and functioning. Today's agenda was to try and estimate their potential army's number, after which, Ser Davos had advised Sansa to think of a battle plan as it would help to see the possible advantages from different perspectives. 

The letter she had written were already sent and their little group had expected the Houses to answer within three days. Meetings could take place anywhere, perhaps some of the lord's could venture to Bear Island. It could be a general assembly of sorts. All of this would have to wait until Jon was here.

Sansa screwed her shut eyes in, even further, she had to clear her mind and think about all the scenarios. Jon was doing his part, he had gathered an army and was preparing to fight for Winterfell. It would be theirs once more, but they will have to defend it.

* * *

It was mid-day, Jon noted, as he rode toward the camp. It was alive with a restless activity, reflecting perfectly Jon's inner state. His stormy grey eyes were wide and frantic, as if he could see through each tent and find Sansa. Urging his horse forward to a slow trot as it whined in protest, Jon reached the outskirts of the camp.

The warning call of, "Riders!" Went unheard by Jon, his eyes searched to rest on Sansa. He rode to the center of the camp and for all it's lively atmosphere, the people were frozen. Watching the events unfold, stuck in their place, as if they knew what was to come. 

He was swiveling his head in all directions when he saw Davos and Val, quickly he dismounted. Stormy eyes still searching for their prey. He looked around as his horse moved from his line of vision…

***

Sansa had returned to Jon's tent with Ghost silently padding alongside her, she had thought of a battle strategy as best she could with the numbers they had. She sat brushing her hair when she heard the warning call for riders. Gasping, Ghost and hair brush forgotten, she rushed out of Jon's tent. The flaps of it being carelessly thrown aside as she came to a stop at the foot of the tent, her legs failing to comply as she searched for the riders.

Sansa's breath caught in her throat, she saw  _ him _ . Jon. Her Jon. He was lean, broad shouldered and strong. He was the very vision of what her father must've looked like in his youth. Astride a black horse, he sat with grace, his head violently jerking around to search for something;  _ someone. _ His raven curls were tied back into a bun, while a few strands sat astray and covered his face. He dismounted quickly and was lost behind the horse.

Just as quickly as he had disappeared, the horse had moved and he saw her. His eyes clearer now, and yet still a stormy grey. His mouth slightly parted, his lips were full and somehow still pouty as he walked closer to her. A scar adorned his left temple down to his cheekbone and another one decorated a line through the center of his right eye. A shapely beard crowning his jaw and cheeks, his face carrying none of the fat it did when they were children. He was a man grown, a warrior, he seemed to be every inch the man their father would've wanted him to become.

Sansa's breath was short and hitched as he walked towards her with a purpose, a purpose he seemed to forget when he was within reach. Seemingly content with staring at her with those eyes that had flecks of lavender in them?

***

He saw her. Her hair kissed by fire, the depths of the most violent ones he had seen, she stood there watching him with her cat shaped azure eyes. Her eyes were glowing against the waning sun, her hands were clenched into her dress. She was tall, just as tall as he was and she was pale. She was thinner now, the fat from her face melted off and her face boasted high cheekbones adorned with the pink from the wind biting against her skin. She was breathing heavy and fast, he could see the breath forming in front of her as he walked closer.

There she stood, and here he seemed to have stopped. This was Sansa. This was  _ Sansa _ . His mind and heart screamed with joy as they leapt towards each other. His arms securely around her waist as her wound up around his neck. He swept her off her feet as the rest of the world disappeared. He could feel dry sobs wracking her body as she nuzzled against his face. 

Then he heard her, Sansa's sweet voice. "Jon. Jon.  _ Jon _ ." Saying his name over and over to reassure herself.

"It's me Sansa. It's Jon." He heard his rough and raspy voice say. He felt her shiver within his arms as he pushed back the flaps of his tent, both of them still clinging to each other.

***

She heard his voice, she heard her name and it made her shiver. He said her name the way it was meant to be said.  _ San-zurrh _ , his voice said firmly against her ear. His voice was deep and rough and so very Northern. He sounded like home, he felt like home, Jon was home.

She stayed encased in the warmth of his body as he carried them into the tent. Sansa twisted her body to see where they were going. Ghost was on the ground and looking at them intently, but Sansa had no plans to let go of him. He reached the bed and sat on it, her legs horizontal against his and she sat sideways on his thighs. He buried his face in her hair and held her tighter. She tightened her hold right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters up! Let me know if you guys liked it. Thank you for the kudos and comments. If you haven't already, leave kudos! Been down for the past few days, I'm going through something and need y'alls prayers and thoughts. Hope I get some good news! Also why the fuck does Sansa treat Jon like utter shit in S8 and worship Theon. Shitty writing. This is just my opinion but at the end of the series, Theon's ledger was balanced. He wasn't good and he wasn't bad. He made up for his sins but he didn't go beyond that. Lemme know what you guys think!


	6. Jon & Sansa

Jon & Sansa

"I thought you were dead, Sansa. There was a rumour that Baelish had you captive, how are you here? What happened to you after that Lannister boy's death?" Jon questioned with a strangled voice, his face still buried into her hair. He nuzzled into her neck.

"I… I was Jon. Baelish, he helped me escape from King's Landing right after Joffrey's death." She started hesitantly.

"When I got to the Vale, Littlefinger poisoned my aunt Lysa against me. She… She went mad Jon, I promise I didn't want to but Baelish kissed me and aunt Lysa saw it." Sansa had started babbling, confessing these things like it was her fault. Jon held her tighter with the arm around her waist and used the other to rub soothing circles over her back, urging her to continue. 

"When she confronted him, he murdered her. He murdered her in front of me and forced me to lie to the other lords, he wanted me to think he did it to protect me. Jon he's_ evil _. He's manic and evil but puts on a face to hide his obsession and his craziness."

"What happened after, sweetling." He asked reassuringly, head slightly pulling back to look at her face. Her bottom lip was trembling and her icy blue eyes were brimming with tears as she continued.

"He made me call him father, he named me Alayne Stone; his bastard. He wanted me Jon. He wanted to marry me, to possess me like he never could mother. He wanted my Tully blue eyes and red hair. He made it clear and I _ had _ to get away. We were at an inn when Brienne of Tarth showed up, she swore an oath to mother and because of that she saved me Jon. From there we came here without stopping." She was crying now, tears rolling down her rosy pale cheeks.

Jon reached forward, arms untangling from her back and waist, and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. His rough hands cupped her face as he looked at her.

"You're safe now Sansa, I promise you. We'll take back our home and I'll keep you safe, I'll always keep you safe Sansa. I've gathered an army and I've written to the lord's of the North to pledge themselves to me. We'll take the Bolton's out root and stem." He said.

He gave her a small reassuring smile, the kind that made his lips move downwards instead of up.

"Jon, I wrote to _ all _ the houses. You need to know who you can trust and who won't answer the call. I know I treated you horribly as a child, I treated you like nothing– like you were nothing. You'll never know how sorry I am Jon, can you forgive me?" Sansa blurted out, eyes wide and hopeful yet fearful at the same time.

"There's nothing to forgive Sansa. You're my family, and for now, we're the last of the Starks. Small things like that don't matter anymore. What's done is done, and I forgive you if that makes you feel better." Jon finished, giving her another one of his small smiles.

Sansa smiled sadly and held his hands, giving them a weak squeeze. "Thank you Jon."

"What about you? Why are you not part of the Night's Watch anymore? I was told you were the Lord Commander…" Sansa questioned, Jon had moved so that they sat on the bed facing each other, both of them cross legged. Both of their hands still linked.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I died Sansa. The brothers of the Night's Watch didn't like me bringing the free folk past the wall, so they plotted a mutiny. Five men, they called me out to the court yard and stabbed me over and over." He chuckled darkly as Sansa gasped, hands ripped out of his and covering her own mouth in horror.

"For the watch they said, over and over as they stabbed me. There's a red priestess here, she tried to bring me back to life but it didn't work. The free folk took over Castle Black and wanted me to be burnt atop a pyre, as is tradition for them. I woke up to flames surrounding me. I hanged them for treason." Jon said awkwardly, looking anywhere but into her sad eyes.

"Oh Jon, Jon, _ my Jon _." She said again and again as she reached to hold his face in her hands, reassuring herself that he was alive. "They're monsters and if you hadn't already killed them I'd have ripped their throats apart." She whispered furiously, still looking at him.

"It's alright Sansa, I'm still here aren't I? Besides Sansa… The men aren't dead. I hung them but they turned into Wights. The spawn of White Walkers. Like the tales old nan used to tell, that's one of the reasons I want Winterfell back, so we can defeat the dead. They are coming." He said hesitantly.

Sansa just sat there dumbfounded. Jon had not only told her he had been resurrected, but now he had confirmed that White Walkers were real. _ The Night King is real. _What was one supposed to say to that?

Jon sighed heavily as he unclasped his sword belt. It held two extremely handsome swords. One fierce and the other elegant.

"There's… There's something else. I'm immune to fire. The fire I woke up to, didn't hurt me, so we tested it again and nothing happened. I'm a Targaryen Sansa." He lifted the slender, elegant, short sword towards her.

"This, this is Dark Sister. She was buried in ice, in a stone with old Valyrian magic. Magic which dictated, none but a Targaryen be able to pull sword from stone." Jon said, looking at her expectantly.

"I'm Rhaegar Targaryen's son. He took your Aunt Lyanna and Lord Stark protected me ask this time. I'm not your brother Sansa, I'm your cousin." He finished, placing the blade on to the bed.

Sansa couldn't believe this. Jon Snow, was _ Jon Targaryen _. The bastard she had thought beneath her, was the true heir to the seven kingdoms. He was the rightful king. Jon was the rightful king. Then she saw his face, the anguish and fear in his eyes. Did he expect that she would reject him? He, who died and is still willing to fight for their home. No, she would not reject him. Never.

"You're a Stark as much as you are Targaryen Jon. You're a Stark. If nothing else, you're my Jon. That's what you are. I'll never leave you Jon Snow. I promise." Sansa said in a firm voice, her hands reaching to embrace him once more. To pull him into a hug.

She pulled back and smiled at him. "Look on the bright side, at least now we know where you get your sword skills from. The heir to, not only the iron throne, but to Cregan Stark _ and _ Aemon the Dragonknight, it's no wonder you're apparently the greatest swordsman who ever lived." She teased.

"People say that, you know? That you're the greatest swordsman that ever lived. Is it true Jon? Are you?" She queried eagerly, eyes wide with wonder.

Chuckling Jon replied, "Maybe…I learnt from the best at Winterfell, Sansa. Then I came to the Wall, and I leaned how to fight dirty. I went North of the Wall and learned how to channel and fight with fury, like the free folk. But truly, I don't mean to exaggerate, I have not recently met anyone who could present a challenge. Though I'll have to learn how to wield Dark Sister and Longclaw at the same time." Looking at the swords in question. He picked up Longclaw and held it out to Sansa, laughing as the weight of it made her hands dip dramatically.

"This is Longclaw. Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander before me, gave it to me. I saved his life from a Wight and he gave me the ancestral Mormont sword. Five centuries it's been in their family. He had the pummel replaced to a Wolf with red eyes. Like Ghost." He said

Sansa bit her lip, placing the longsword down and looking at Jon sadly. "They took Ice, Jon, Tywin Lannister melted it down and gave half of it to Joffrey and the other half to Jaime Lannister. Brienne has the Kingslayer's sword now but Joffrey's must've been passed to him." 

He moved closer to her and placed his thumb on her face and dragged it across her cheekbone, "we'll get it back sweetling, Brienne can keep her sword but when we get the other half back, I'll make sure to have it made exactly as it was." 

"We have to be ruthless Sansa. House Stark can't afford to be weakened further. We're almost extinct. I'll have to do some things that'll be brutal, do you understand me? Brutal, but necessary. We need to keep the peace once we get Winterfell back, and the only way to keep the peace is by making the prospect of war seem hopeless." Jon said, eyebrows raised, pleading her to understand.

"I need you to understand that you are the reminder of what's Stark in me. When I was reborn in the fire, something changed inside me. White Walkers aren't the only reason I'm fighting for Winterfell, I crave vengeance. I want to destroy every house who lead us to this, I want to annihilate them Sansa." 

"I know Jon, and I'm right here next to you. I'm tired of being beaten down. We're wolves, we need to show the world what we're capable of." Sansa said, determination settling in her gut after each word.

"I did a lot of thinking about this. It's the South, the South weakens the Starks, Jon. I loved my mother but she's the reason most of this happened. She was suited to uncle Brandon, not to father. Mother forced father to go South. She forced the septa on to us, a septa that filled my head with stories of golden princes and evil bastards. Mother stopped old nan from telling us stories, stories that are the very culture of the North. Brandon Stark would never have allowed his children to follow the seven. Yet father allowed it, and had a sept built for mother. Father was so very generous and giving but Brandon would've resisted my mother. The South ruins the Starks Jon. We can never trust the South. Ever." She finished.

Jon merely nodded his agreement. Humming as the ache in his body took over. "I need to bathe, Sansa. Do you mind if I leave you just for a little while?" He asked.

"Y-yes of course. Take your time." Sansa said fleetingly as she got off the bed and stood in the centre of the tent, awkwardly.

She turned to him and said, "Jon, can I– could we–" she hesitated. "Can I sleep in your tent with you?" She blurted out, blushing with eyes wide in alarm.

Jon's own eyes widened with surprise.

"It's just that, your tent smells like home and Ghost makes me feel safe. I promise I'll sleep on the floor over the mats but please, please say yes." She pleaded.

"Absolutely not, Sansa. I'll sleep on the mats, you take the bed, I'll be happy to lounge with Ghost." Jon said with a soft smile.

"Jon, we can both sleep on the bed. We're sibil– _ cousins _, after all." She said, blushing red.

"O-okay…" Jon confirmed. He turned to gather his spare tunic and breeches, turning red when he had to reach for his under clothes in front of Sansa. He gathered his things and made his way out of the tent to the hot springs of Queenscrown. 

* * *

Sansa was already curled up in his bed when he entered the tent. Winter was at their doorstep and the sun set earlier and earlier each day. In the hours after he had bathed, Jon had talked to Val, Davos and the Lady Melisandre. He had confirmed that Sansa was, in fact, not an imposter. Davos didn't seem surprised, Val looked… Annoyed? Melisandra had simply asked if he was a Targaryen. He nodded then. Davos had started to ask logistics of how they were going to gather the lord's support now that he was a Targaryen. Jon has simply held up his hand and silenced him, he did not have the strength to think of logistics, this night.

Tormund had been busy. He had relayed his message of, proclaiming Jon his king. After explaining his reasoning, the rest of the free folk were silent. It was Wun Wun's booming voice saying, "_ Snow _" that had settled the matter. He was officially the king beyond the wall. He was king of the free folk.

Jon bent down and scratched Ghost behind the ear as the giant Direwolf opened his eyes and started at him. He reached his bed and took in the vision. Sansa was curled into his furs, his bed was against the wall of the tent and Sansa had chosen the wall side of the bed. Her fiery hair was splayed across his pillow, he sat down on the bed and took off his boots, jerkin and breeches. Sansa started to wake as she felt Jon move, groggily she turned to face him and mumbled something under her breath and promptly went back to sleep. He was left in only his tunic and long pants that he wore under the breeches. He usually took those off too, but given the current company, he decided against it. 

He pulled at the furs slightly, creating an opening just big enough to let himself in and settled his head against the pillow. He turned to face Sansa's sleeping profile, her soft freckles littered around her nose and lips slightly parted to breath heavy. She had grown into a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman who had seen so much horror, the beast within Jon roared with a fierce desire to protect this innocent girl. She was family, she was _ his _ innocent girl. Raven curls mixed with ruby red waves, no discernible start to either of their locks. He lulled into a heavy sleep at the sounds of Sansa's deep breathing.

* * *

Sansa opened her eyes from the sweetest sleep she had ever known, her eyes crinkled open as her body registered the heat encasing her. She felt Jon's strong arm wrapped low around her waist, the other rested under their heads. Her back was to him and they had assumed a sort of a hugging position, sometime in the night. She sighed as she snuggled further into the furs, rubbing her face into them.

Sansa had fallen asleep shortly after the sun had set last night. She had witnessed the wildlings proclaim Jon their king. The giant– _ giant _ had ended any debate to be had. Jon was King of the True North. She wondered if the Northern lord's would proclaim him King in the North, after they had won back Winterfell. 

She cleared her mind of her thoughts and simply enjoyed this moment. It was the third day after the ravens has flown to the houses carrying Sansa's message. The ravens would return and bring the replies with them. Both Jon and Sansa had to be ready for that. She hoped enough men would answer the call. She would have to discuss battle plans with Jon as well. She knew Winterfell just as much as he did, perhaps she could be of some help. 

Jon stirred behind her, he looked down at her just as Sansa tilted her head, her breath caught. It was like looking into a storm. His eyes were stormy grey, and had fine specks of lavender glittered around them. She had never paid Jon any attention, all her life since she knew what a bastard meant. But now she saw him, his intense eyes, full pouty lips, inky blank raven curls and a hard, defined, muscled body. He was a handsome man, a _ beautiful _ man even. She wouldn't be surprised if he had taken a lover since he'd left Castle Black. Val's sarcastic emphasis on the word, 'advisor,' forcefully invaded her mind. Then she blushed.

Jon for his part was awe struck. Sansa had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. They were cold and icy, yet held a warmth to behold. Then he saw her blush and took in their position, or rather, the position of his arm.

"I'm– I'm sorry Sansa, forgive me. This is most untoward, I didn't mean to–" he spluttered, as he moved to remove his arm.

"NO– I mean no, Jon it's not that." She held his arm firm around her, her body still twisted to face him. She bit down on her plump bottom lip.

"You make me feel safe, please don't ever doubt that. I _ trust _ you Jon. It's just that… It's just that I'm sorry to have kept you away from your lady tonight. I'll leave you be from now on…"

"My _ lady _? What are you talking about, Sansa?" Jon asked, genuinely perplexed.

"The lady Val of course, Jon." Sansa said tightly.

"She's not my woman Sansa. She's my friend, after… After I was murdered, she helped me find my strength. I had fallen sick, I would've died again, if not for her." He started quietly.

"Oh, oh I'm sorry. So she's _ not _…?" Sansa asked the important question without asking it at all.

"No sweetling, I have no lady to claim as my lover." He said quickly. He leaned forward to kiss her brow and then the corner of the cheekbone. He watched the blush slide down lower.

She turned fully into him, burying her face into his chest, ear planted against his ribcage, she listened to his heart beating. Steady. Strong. 

"We have some time, still. Let's stay like this for a while, yes?" She heard him say.

She sighed, "yes, Jon."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ok, I know I haven't posted in a while, but school started! Uni is hard man. Ik ok there's no hot springs in Queenscrown, but stillllllllllll. Hope you guys liked this chapter. PLEASE COMMENT AND LEAVE KUDOS! THANKS!


	7. Jon & Sansa

The two had gotten up, with Jon quickly throwing on his clothes as Sansa fixed her hair and gave Ghost an absurd amount of scratches and pats. The giant Direwolf's eyelids were drooping by the end as Jon chuckled. 

Smiling broadly, Jon had announced, "you'll spoil him Sansa." _ San-zurrh _, his Northern accent prodded. She stuck out her tongue and circled Ghost's neck, hugging him, with a mock pout. Ghost, for his part, enjoying all the attention.

"One day I'll be braiding his fur and decorating it with flowers. You'll see. Then you'll regret the day you tried to stop me from petting my Ghostie." She turned and cooed at him. Giving the great beast a few scratches under the chin for good measure.

Jon laughed openly at this, his laugh a warm deep sound that quite literally somehow filled her soul. She felt the vibrations of his laugh trembling through her body. After that, she couldn't stop the wide smile that broke across her face.

"Alright, alright. Don't turn him into a house pet though, I'll still need Ghost to ride into battle with me, just don’t turn him into a pet." He conceded.

Both of them went about getting ready for the day. Jon left Sansa to change her clothes and fix her appearance as he left the tent for the day and Jon called for a boy to send word to, Davos, Val, Tormund and Melisandra. He was to have another war council today. The letters from the houses had arrived. The ravens had flown in, one after the other, sometime during the small hours of dawn. A page had called out from outside the tent to alert Jon. 

Naturally, Sansa had heard too, already thinking of how to help Jon. Regardless of what the letters said, she had every possible outcome and countermeasure mapped in her mind.

* * *

Sansa, Val, Melisandra, Davos and Brienne were already waiting in the war tent. They sat in an uncomfortable silence and pretended to notice imaginary things that caught their fancy to distract themselves. At least, that's what Sansa had thought. She looked up to find Val staring straight at her, an annoyed expression gracing her beautiful features. 

"My lady Val, if I could have a word with you after this meeting?" Sansa asked suddenly.

Val nodded curtly and the group turned their heads to the sound of the tent's flaps parting. Tormund, the red haired man with a wild look entered first, followed by Jon. Tormund seemed to be… Chuckling? The man had been jolly since she had seen him yesterday. She found herself wanting to smile in the presence of so happy a man.

Jon reached over to the empty seat next to her, but paused before sitting. She felt two of his rough fingers slide across her jaw, in an effort to move her head to face him. He leaned down and kissed her brow, and then the corner of her cheekbone as he had done when the two were in bed. Then, suddenly, he was gone and had sat down gruffly slapping his hands on his thighs, in a gesture to get down to business.

Sansa couldn't see herself, but she was sure she had a pleased expression on her face.

Sansa had insisted Brienne be given a place on the war council as well, and she had found Jon to be more than willing. She smiled to herself as she sat around the table, her heart was soaring over how it felt to trust a man and ask him for something, knowing he'd not expect something in return.

"Davos, Val, Lady Melisandra," he said, nodding to each one and then turning to Sansa. "This is my sister. Lady Sansa Stark, the heir apparent to Winterfell. She was held prisoner by Petyr Baelish and Brienne of Tarth helped her escape. Davos, thank you for telling my cousin as much as you could in my absence. I'll briefly explain our plans so far and Sansa can tell us what she thinks and pick up where she wrote the letters. Then we read what the houses say. Fair?" He asked his council, receiving nods in response from everyone. 

"Our plan is to attack Winterfell and draw Bolton out, once we've done that we keep pushing further and further back, attacking and running. With the men we have we can station some at Karhold, some at the Dreadfort and the rest along with me to attack Winterfell. Ultimately, we destroy the bastards army at Karhold. I know we've written to essentially every house in the North and I expect our number to be around 4000 men." Jon said, wide stormy eyes turning to look at Sansa expectantly.

"Jon, that's– that's so unnecessary. If you have 4000 men, that's enough to win Winterfell. The Bolton's have around 6000 yes?" Jon nodded. 

"So station men into the forest of Winterfell and send a group to flank the Bolton army from behind. Attack and run into the forest, and if they don't follow, you'll have a group of men behind them waiting to attack if they try and retreat into Winterfell. If you take the battle all the way to Karhold, the men will be tired and the Bolton's won't chase you all the way, Jon." Sansa said, with a beautiful simplicity to her tone, as though the council were children and she their septa.

"She's got a point. Although your plan was downright crazy and was a sure victory, hers is more effective and there's no chance of the Bolton's going back and hiding behind walls." Val said into the sudden, shocked, quiet of the room. 

"Right then, that's settled. New plan. We'll take 2500 men to the foot of the castle. 1000 will plant themselves into the forest and prepare to ambush. 500 will outmanoeuvre the Bolton's army from behind." Jon said.

"That's assuming you have the numbers." Tormund added quietly. Suddenly, solemn.

"We've received replies from all the houses you wrote to, my lady. The replies from the houses we wrote to are here as well." Davos interjected, pointedly at Sansa and Jon.

"House Mormont would agree to meet with us, along with Houses, Hornwood, Flint, Reed and Tallhart. They have written to each other as well, and are willing to travel to Bear Island as a group to meet with you two. Houses Karstark, Umber, Ryswell and Dustin declare for Ramsay Bolton." Davos finished, delicately, as if to soften the blows, to the council.

"Bolton? Isn't he a bastard?" Jon asked, alarmed at this new turn of events. Legitimacy, gave the bastard that much more reason for the Houses to declare for him.

"His father had apparently legitimised him, and then Ramsay Bolton proceeded to kill his father, stepmother and stepbrother. House Mormont's Lady, has informed us of this." Davos replied, lifting the letter that contained these discoveries.

Jon swore.

"What of the other Houses, Ser Davos?" Sansa would not be deterred, first she had to know who was on their side.

"Houses, Cerwyn, Glover and Manderly refuse to fight for you. However, they also refuse to raise arms against you. House Forrester is dead, save for two bastards of Gregor Forrester, and they wrote that the men of Ironwrath will not rally in their name." 

"We meet with the Lord's and Ladies at Bear Island

Mormont, we gather as much support as we can and then we demand that the Bolton relinquish control of Winterfell and answer for his crimes." Jon said, his words taken straight out of Sansa's head. He spoke with a firm voice, one the brokered no argument. This was the final plan.

"Write to Lady Mormont, tell her to call the Lord's and Ladies willing to hear us out. We'll see to them at Bear Island." He said, motioning to Sansa.

The Island was only a few days from Queenscrown. They would have to use Jon's boat, Jon thought with glee. Jon suspected the other houses would most likely arrive at the same time as him or maybe a day or two later.

He rose, and everyone around the table followed. "I have some training to do, Davos, arrange for my boat to be used to get us there. We leave tomorrow morning. Tormund, I need you, Ornor and Thormyr to join me in the training yard."

Val snapped up at this, "the best of our fighters? Why?"

"I'm going to train with both, Longclaw and Dark Sister. Two Valyrian steel swords are invaluable in battle." He looked down at his hands, "my left will wield Dark sister and my right will wield Longclaw." 

He broke out of his trance, nodded at Val and Sansa, and left with Tormund. Melisandra followed closely.

"His boat?" Sansa asked Ser Davos.

"Aye, it's more of a ship, but Jon loves calling it a boat. The man loves his 'boat'. I don't even know why m'lady." Davos sighed deeply as he made to exit.

Sansa smiled at Jon's utter _ Jonness. _ The smile quickly vanished as soon as she realized the company she was in.

Sansa turned around and faced Val, who had stayed behind for the conversation she had promised.

"Yes _ Lady Sansa _. What can I do for you then?" Her voice sounded sour. Sansa bit down on her lip. This was going to be harder than she thought, she had made a mistake where Val was concerned. Jon wouldn't be alive if not for her, and Sansa had come in with a blazing fury over some snide remarks. Sansa was a Lady, and part of that entailed knowing when you are wrong and making amends.

She took a deep breath and looked straight into Val's eyes, "Jon told me what you did for him, and I realized, he wouldn't be here to fight for our home if you hadn't saved his life." She walked towards Val and slowly reached for her hands, when she saw Val make no protest and only follow Sansa's hands with her eyes, Sansa clasped their hands together.

"I should've thanked you the moment I arrived. I didn't know what you had done for him, for _ me _. Jon is… Jon is the only person I have left. He's the reason why I fought, he's the reason I wanted to live." She said, sincerity shining through her words. 

Sansa saw the moment Val went from contemplating her words, to accepting them. Her sapphire blue eyes took a softer tone when they regarded her and she squeezed Sansa's hands reassuringly. 

"All's forgotten, little Lady. Besides, princesses should not fight amongst each other." At Sansa's surprised look she continued, "yes, I was Mance Rayder's good sister. That's why you Southerners call me Princess Val. Now, Jon is our new King and you his cousin. You shall be Princess Sansa." She declared in an airy tone.

Sansa laughed softly, at Val's haughtiness, as they made to leave the tent. 

"It's just Sansa, I insist." Sansa urged, still smiling.

"Val, then." Val nodded.

They could hear the clanging of swords before they even started conversing.

"I have to say, I'm most relieve–" Sansa's words caught in her mouth as she took in the sight before her. Outside in the middle of the training square, Jon stood, surrounded by 3 men. Dark Sister occupying one man while Longclaw parried another. Jon was advancing on the third. The world around her blurred and she could only focus on Jon.

He looked graceful, _ elegant _even. The way he twirled the swords to follow his wrists and his feet moved firm yet rapidly against the ground. He held the swords as if they weighed nothing and with them it seemed like he made music.

At the same time, he was fierce, strong, determined and _ brave _. He fought like a man possessed, attacking Tormund and one of the wildlings over and over. Relentless. In that moment, he seemed every inch the King he was meant to be. So graceful, yet fierce, his every movement seemed almost regal. 

Sansa felt warmth hug her entire body, from head to toe. If this was the man who was to fight for her home, to fight for her right, to protect her, then the gods would need to have mercy on their enemies. 

She blushed as she focused on the tightness of his tunic against his muscles. This was her cousin and though they had been raised as brother and sister, Sansa had never called nor considered him anything more than 'half brother'. There was no harm in looking, part of her mind insisted. 

Faintly, she heard Val talking and she tuned back into the world.

She turned to see Val smirking as she focused on the words coming out of her mouth, "– the Black Rider has that reaction from every fair maiden who watches him fight." She smirked. "Jon is special in the way he fights, the way he rides, the way he's lived his life. Jon Snow is a very special man." 

"Black Rider?" Sansa wondered out loud, choosing to ignore her flush at obviously being caught admiring Jon.

"Aye, the free folk have never seen someone who rides as well as he. He was a crow when we first saw it, and instead of giving him a name in the spirit of jest, we decided to honour him. Our people value the little things in life. I'd like you to remember that Princess." Val quietly spoke.

Sansa stopped and wondered at what Val was getting at, and while she considered the weight of Val's words, she asked another question.

"Why is he only wearing his tunic? He must be freezing." She turned to face Val, focusing on her pretty face.

"The body struggles to circulate blood to the muscles during the cold correct?" Val quizzed, and continued when Sansa nodded. "It makes for better endurance and helps Jon fight in harsher conditions than they will during the actual battle. Mind you, only Jon fucking Snow chooses to do this." She snorted.

Sansa watched in amazement as Jon was knocked to the ground by his opponent. He was in full view of his people, a people who proclaimed him king. Yet here he stood taking a beating in front of them without a care. The act spoke volumes of Jon's humility. She saw him get up, jaw clenched and, silver grey eyes, focused.

It was all a blur from there and suddenly she heard Jon calling to end the fight. Two of his opponents were on the ground, Dark Sister's giant ruby gleamed in the sunlight, as though it were pleased at the fight it had participated in. 

He saw her and made his way towards them. Sansa felt herself hum in a pleasant feeling every time Jon had spotted her since their reunion. 

At the same time Davos was returning from somewhere behind a plethora of tents. Her pointed staring at Davos prompted Jon to follow her line of sight, immediately understanding when he saw Davos as well.

"We leave tomorrow at Dawn, I've sent for the ship to be prepared. If I may suggest the company that follows you be comprised of Lady Sansa, her retinue, the Lady Val, and myself. Tormund should stay here to keep things in check while we're away. The Lady Melisandra wishes to stay here as well" Davos stated.

Jon turned at stared at Sansa and she found herself quickly considering the suggestion. She nods to Jon who in turn gives Davos the go ahead. She finds herself smiling at these little ways of showing his trust in her. Little things like this.

* * *

They had boarded the ship a little bit after dawn, the next day. Sansa had gone down to her cabin almost immediately, citing the inevitable sea sickness as her excuse. 

Jon doubted that, he had seen cloth, fur and a makeshift sewing set in her delicate hands. He decided to respect her secrecy, it's the least she deserved after everything that had happened to her. After all the men in her life had betrayed her, used her and caged her. Jon would not become one of those men, Sansa was free with him, she was safe with him. 

Jon had taken to prefer the salty winds of the seas. Davos was obviously the captain of the ship and he, Jon thought amused, had decided to teach Jon everything he knew about life at sea. The man talked to Jon as if her were his father, and personally, Jon was infinitely grateful. He needed some guidance, needed to know what was too much and what wasn't enough. 

Distantly, he heard Davos give the ships wheel to his first man, followed by the heavy 'thunking' sounds his boots made across the deck.

"We need to prepare for what we're going to say to the Houses coming to hear us out. There's more confusion now than ever before."

Jon focused on the snow flakes falling, blending into whichever watery surface they could find. The snow and salt of the sea, made for a strange combination, that demanded attention. He turned to Davos after a beat, and raised his eyebrow in question.

"You're a Targaryen. A bastard or not, we don't know. The wildlings have declared you their king, which doesn't win us why points, _ and _ to top it all off, the Lady Sansa is the heir to Winterfell. Who the fuck are those Houses going to be fighting for?" Davos pushed.

"He's right." Val said, climbing up the staircase that led down to the cabins. "The men of the army need to know who they are fighting for, they need to know the person they fight for is better than that Bolton boy. Both you and the little princess are better, but if there's even a shadow of a doubt who the men fight for on the battlefield, all will be lost."

"There's an easy way to solve this."

Jon and Val turned to face Davos.

"Marry her. She's your cousin now isn't she? She'll give you the Stark name and your children will be Starks too."

A moment passed. Then two. Then several.

Jon's nostrils flared as he glared at the old man.

"I'd never subjugate her to a marriage. Especially not to a man like me. Damaged goods. Sansa grew up, _ dreaming _ about fair Princes with pretty words dripping from their mouths. I'm not going to gift her a _ freak _ of nature." Jon said, huffing as he walked away from the two, to the opposite direction of the ship.

Val watched his retreating form in thoughtful silence, Davos did have a point, Sansa could solve all their problems and Val knew men didn't come better than Jon Snow. Sansa would be happy with him, she certainly thought her cousin comely in appearance. Sansa's sudden blush during Jon's training had shown as much.

Humming a pleasant tune, Val made her way towards the storage room of the ship. Maybe she could find a bite to eat, maybe she'd accidentally run into Sansa's room. Who knew where her journey to the storage room would take her. Jon certainly couldn't be mad at _ her _, if she accidentally let slip what Davos had said. She scurried away just a little faster.

* * *

Sansa's attention barely wavered from her needlework, as she encouraged the knocker to enter. She lifted her head slightly to see Val come in. Within two days of being friends with her, Sansa had already come to understand why she was Jon's closest friend. She tolerated no nonsense, spoke bluntly and never seemed to have ulterior motives. Until now, Sansa thought, as she saw a grinning sinister looking Val.

"Whose demise have you planned, and do you need help hiding the body?" Sansa asked, she couldn't help but grin too. It was contagious.

"We're on a boat Princess, I don't think there's much room for a place to hide a body." Val replied with mock thoughtfulness.

"I can be _ very _ creative." Assured Sansa. Val laughed and shook her head. She took to sitting on Sansa's bed, hands resting on either side of her.

"Davos said proposed something interesting just now." 

"What would that be?" Sansa hummed, continuing her sewing.

"He said… He said we can't afford to be divided right now and that's exactly what Jon's heritage is doing." Val replied.

"I agree, Ser Davos gives sound advice. He's clearly thinking of the disarray the lord's will find themselves in, once Jon tells them who he really is."

"Sansa, Jon won't withhold this from them. He'll tell the lord's everything at the meeting. You know this." Sansa nodded at this, Jon's honour would demand no less. She waited for Val to get to her point.

She heard Val take a deep breath. "If you marry him, he can take the Stark name, I believe. The lords will rally to the both of you and your children would have the Stark name." The silence that followed was deafening.

"I've already thought of that Val. I've thought of every possibility and every outcome possible. I've come to the realization that Jon deserves better. He died doing the right thing Val." Sansa stood, sewing put aside.

"He_ died _, and you want me to, what? Bind his life to a woman like me? I treated him like he was nothing since I can remember. Three days of pleasant conversation can't wipe out years of cruelty. Every time he'd look upon me he'd see my mother. Besides, I'm broken Val, damaged. Joffrey made sure to ruin my body." Sansa said, stopping an escaping sob.

"Both of you are such_ fools _. Sansa, he just said the sam–" Val hurriedly started.

"Please Val, I need to be alone right now. I have work to do." Sansa said firmly, picking her needle back up and connecting it to the cloth.

Val huffed as she left without a word.

* * *

That night Sansa lay in her, tossing and turning incessantly. The tide had been terrible and the day's journey was extended. Sansa hated being on the boat, though she knew Jon loved his boat. Davos had said as much.

She lay quietly and decided to give up her pursuit of sleep. She thought of the days events, mainly what Val had proposed. She wondered at what Jon had said to Davos. Did he scoff at the idea? Did he laugh at it? Or did he simply dismiss it? Sansa hoped for the sake of her reputation it was the last. She knew she wasn't undesirable, but she also knew she wasn't meant for happiness and love.

Jon was Jon, he was already the best man she knew. He was as good as father, gentle, loving and kind. 

She would not hesitate to marry Jon, she knew he would be kind. A desirable husband for any Lady, and that's exactly what he deserved. A Lady untainted by the world, not some silly girl, who let dreams of fair princes and Southern society, ruin her. Sansa shifted to the side and hugged her pillow closer. She missed Jon, she missed his scent.

She got up and looked across at the finished cloak. It had the Stark direwolf knitted across one leather strap, Sansa had meant to knit a Targaryen on the other but she refrained so as to avoid antagonizing the Northern houses. She would wholeheartedly do it once the meeting was over. 

She bunched the cloak in her hands and silently padded towards her door, pushing it open with a small creak.

She made her way towards Jon's cabin and opened the door to an almost identical creak.

Suddenly she found herself pushed against the wooden wall with something cool pressing against her throat. The cloak in her hand fell to the ground.

"Who the fuck are you." A voice growled in her ear. Sansa found herself unable to speak, her mouth was completely dry as she tried to croak out the words.

"It's me Jon, Sansa, it's me!" She finally said. She felt the tenseness in Jon's body abate as the knife was pulled away.

"_ Gods _Sansa, don't sneak around like that. I half expected you to be another trai–" And Sansa's heart broke all over again, he was still afraid that his own men would try to kill him. Sansa hands wound around his neck as she pulled him further in, if at all possible, for a fierce hug.

Jon accepted it, arms encompassing her waist. She loved this, being encased in Jon's heat. He was so damn_ warm _ all the time.

"Why are you here sweetling?" He questioned as he tilted back to lay kisses upon her brow then the corner of her cheek bone.

"I– I made you something." She started as she pushed away from Jon to pick up the cloak. She presented it to him, the moonlight that was vacant before suddenly burst through the clouds and poured into the windows.

"It's just like the one father used to wear!" Jon said excitedly. "Thank you Sansa." Softly, he spoke now. 

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. "Can I… Do you think I could stay with you? I don't feel safe and I can't sleep Jon. Can I stay with you?" She pleaded, ice blue eyes wide and so beautiful against the moonlight. 

"Of course Sansa, you needn't ask, sweetling. I couldn't sleep either." Jon chuckled at this. He put the cloak on his chair and settled into bed. Sansa pulling the furs next to him. He felt her head rest against his chest as he dared to wound a leg into hers and wrap an arm around her waist to pull her in closer.

Perhaps, perhaps he was falling for his cousin. Could he hope she felt the same? Could he hope? Regardless of whatever, Jon was sure his erratic heart would prevent Sansa from sleeping. So he buried his nose in her hair and breathed in. The smell of winter roses invaded his world, and immediately calmed him. Winter roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! I had to make this chapter long because I'm trying to average 3000 words per chapter. It's good to finally post this. Also, Sansa is helping with the battle plans because she provides a fresh and simple 3rd perspective from someone who doesn't know battle at all. Her plan is just based off of common sense. That's why she's helping out. The next one will be up next weekend. Did you guys see the Kit and Sophie reunion!?!? My HEART. All the love, as always people. Love the comments and the kudos! Leave me COMMENTS AND KUDOS. Also fuck D&D. :)

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is up. Jon is based loosely on a mixture of Genghis Khan, Uhtred Ragnerson, and Jon himself. I write this to get some closure about the utter cluster fuck that was GOT. I am Jonsa till I die, do not presume to lecture me on that, this is a Jonsa story if you do not like the pairing do not read my story. In this we will assume Ser Alliser and his men turn into Wights. This story is quite a journey and I don't want to speak too soon or put anyone off but personally I think it will be many chapters. I am not a fan of slow burn, though everyone has differing opinions on what slow burn is. I will try and establish the premise before Jonsa officially happens. Lemme know what you think! Major props to Vicaressse, this author inspired a few ideas from my story. I would acknowledge the author formally but I don't know how to use AO3 fully yet.


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